


Shivers In The Dark

by Cautta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description, Gray Dumbledore, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I mean I'm trying to keep them in character but sometimes it's just necessary, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Past Rape/Non-con, Powerful Harry, Rape Recovery, Romance, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt, Vampires, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cautta/pseuds/Cautta
Summary: A new year in Hogwarts brings some unexpected changes when ten students are matched with personal tutors in order to bring the War to the final end. When, to everyone's surprise, Harry Potter is matched with Severus Snape they have to overcome years of mutual aversion and work out common ground. But nothing is as simple as it may seem, with both Harry's and Snape's pasts, Voldemort power at its peak and everyday drama.A story of romance and friendship between people who once were enemies and now realise that it's time to put the childhood prejudices behind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, I do not make money on this story or any other for this matter. 
> 
> I'd like to thank my dearest best friend who is betting this story (you don't even ship Snarry but who knows what may happen after ;) ) and my other friend, who was also betting some of it. Without you this story would be a complete distater with lots of mistakes.
> 
> I'm not a native-speaker so please be gentle with me, if you see any radical mistakes please point them out for me.
> 
> It's my first Snarry ever but I've read thousands of them so if anything looks familiar I'm really sorry and I can assure you I have never wanted to copy anyone's work as it's horrible and lame and pathetic and I definitelly hope I'm none of those. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The last afternoon of this holidays was pleasantly warm as Harry took his routine walk, down the street. Home of Hermione’s parents was located in a very calm and quiet neighborhood, and he loved to walk those streets, especially during this beautiful time of the day, his favorite to be more specific. The sunset was making the sky look so peaceful with orange-like sun rays brightening the scenery with similar colors. One could think magic existed not only in the Wizarding World but within the Muggle one too.

The thoughts which were mingling in Harry’s head were focused mostly on his forthcoming return to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he would lie to himself if he said that he wasn’t excited at all. It was his home after all. However, the excitement was also shadowed by worry, which he couldn’t quite suppress or ignore. No one could neglect what was happening around the world, with Voldemort’s power at its peak, and Harry was aware of that better than anyone else. At the end, the safety of this world was loaded on his shoulders. He shook his head trying to get rid of those thoughts. Disturbing this beautiful time with his concerns wouldn’t do him any good, or make the situation any better.

Time was passing by quickly, and before Harry realized it, it was long past ten, when he reached the house. The lights were on, so he suspected that no one had gone to sleep yet. He felt a slight touch of guilt in his chest, realizing that they were probably waiting for him. With a sigh, he walked through the door, leaving his shoes by the corner case.

“Harry? Is that you?” He heard the familiar voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Granger. I’m sorry that I’m so late.” Harry answered, passing by the dining room on his way to the living room.

“Oh, don’t worry about this, dear. We know you can take care of yourself.” Mrs. Granger was sitting on the couch, watching television, while her husband was nowhere to be seen. However, the boy could hear the characteristic clinking of glasses coming from the kitchen.

Harry smiled, sinking into the leather armchair standing close by. The whole room was maintained in deep brown colors, mixed with crème walls. It wasn’t excessively big, but enough to make room for a few shelves with books, wide wardrobe and a kept-in antic style cabinet for glass.

“How was your walk?” Mr. Granger asked, appearing in the room with three cups of tea. “Thought you would like one of those,” he said, passing him a cup, and settling next to his wife.

“Thank you.” Harry said, smiling into his cup as he took a sip.

He doubted that he would ever get used to those little gestures of care. Everyone took them for granted probably, but for him it was something really special. It reminded him of The Burrow and Molly’s attitude. A wave of regret swept through him at the thought that he couldn’t visit them this year. After turning seventeen he wasn’t safe there, and staying with Hermione’s parents felt only natural after everything that had happened last summer. Well, that were definitely the paths he didn’t want to take right now.

“It was okay, I will really miss this town.” Harry answered, looking distantly over the window. “Thank you for having me this summer, I really appreciate it.” He focused his eyes on Hermione’s parents again, smiling brightly at them.

“Oh, don’t mention it Harry, it’s nothing.” Mrs. Granger said, waving her hand as to brush it away. “Pleasure on our side.” 

Harry shook his head knowing better than that.

“I’m serious. Thank you for everything. Without you-”

He stopped suddenly, realizing that he couldn’t say anything else without his voice breaking down.

The silence which appeared in the room wasn’t uncomfortable at all. They had gone through it enough times already, that everyone was used to it.

“Without you I would more likely be dead now.” Harry finished.

So that was it, when it came to not thinking about bad things. Neil had said that he should have embraced his demons, whenever they arrived, and it felt as that was exactly what he was doing right now. Getting it off his chest and shit like that. At least, he couldn’t deny that it didn’t feel good to be able to admit it. In the past, he wouldn’t even acknowledge that there were any problems with him, so you could call it a progress. Nevertheless, he was completely different now. Not this frightened boy anymore - that boy was gone and forgotten. Maybe that last part not that much, but it was irrelevant.

 “Don’t say that, my dear boy. I’m sure you would have gotten all the help needed, even without us.”

Harry sighed, finishing his tea, and got up.

“I'd better head off to bed now. It’s been a long day.”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger nodded their heads with agreement, and bid him goodnight. They also reassured him, that he needn't to worry about tomorrow, because they would make sure that he made it to the train on time. Harry thanked them again (still it wasn’t possible to ever thank them enough), and made his way upstairs.

 ***

The trip to the King’s Cross the next day went so fast, that in the blink of an eye he was surrounded by his friends again. The smile which appeared on his face since the moment he had seen them, simply wouldn’t disappear, and he realized how much he had missed them.

“It’s really good to see you, mate.” Ron said with a grin, after he summarized most of his holidays to Harry.

“You too, Ron. I hope that you apologized to your parents on my behalf, for not visiting them this summer.” Harry answered, finally sitting on his place, next to the window.

“Sure, I did. Dumbledore had told them that you couldn’t come at the beginning of the summer already. He wouldn’t slip the place of your staying though.” Ron lowered his voice as he added, “Did you have fun at Hermione’s?”

“Ron! I told you a thousand times not to mention it! What if someone were listening?” Hermione sent him an angry look, trying to look authoritative. Unfortunatrly, the effect was gone the second Ron bent his head and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

“Don’t worry that much, Hermione. It’s just us here, don’t exaggerate.”

Harry felt a twinge of jealousy at the sight in front of him. If anyone had asked him, he would of course say that he was happy for his friends. And he was, no hidden feelings. He even had some involvment in their getting together, when he finally had told Ron to grow the fuck up, and ask Hermione on a proper date last year, but still it was exactly what he was craving for. To want and to be wanted in return. To love and to be loved. He was thinking about that more often than he cared to admit, especially as he was The Boy Who Lived after all. Finding someone who would love him for Him, and not for his fame, was harder than he had ever imagined. And make this person a guy too. That was something he had discovered last school year. Suddenly, when by chance he didn’t have any nightmares, his dreams were more male than female. After that, he started to notice things. Such as how fucking cute that Ravenclaw guy from his Tranfiguration classes was. Danny Peterson was his name. Unfortunately, from his observations, Harry also discovered that he was banging more girls than he could possibly memorize. And also, how he couldn’t resist quick glances at his roommates’ cocks under the shower. He felt so ashamed of that, that he kept on taking them only when no one was there. Some puzzling questions popped out in his head, but he simply wasn’t ready to admit the truth.

He was as gay as one could be. The second he actually realized that, he no longer had a “forbidden” hard on during showers, and everything came back to normal. What a relief, that was. A few weeks had passed by, and he finally gathered up his courage and told Hermione. She said, that she knew it already.

“Well, Harry, it was rather obvious, judging by the way you stared at Danny all the time. I thought that at least _you_ would be resistant to his “charm”, as he puts it himself, but unfortunately, you weren’t. And also Ron had told me that you were acting weird around him recently. Figuring it out took me less than a day.” That was what she had told him after that. And later she added, “Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone has realized it yet, but if you don’t want people to know, then please try to be less obvious.”

He was shocked by how calm she was. After his experience with Muggle world, he thought that he would be ostracized somehow, but it turned out that being gay was considered as normal as being straight. After that, he had started to notice gay couples around Hogwarts, and couldn’t come to the terms how blind he was. He told Ron the day they had passed all the exams, and his worries that his best friend would freak out turned out to be just that. Worries. The only thing Ron was really curious about though, was if Harry liked someone, but when he heard that it definitely wasn’t him, and “no Ron, I didn’t try anything yet, I just know it” plus “I don’t want to experiment with girls okay, I’m not confused, or unsure, please don’t arrange me a date with someone”, he let it go, and it was as if nothing had happened.

"Ground to Harry!" He heard Ron’s voice as the red haired boy waved his hand in front of Harry’s face.

“Uh, sorry.” Harry answered, shaking his head and coming back to reality. Well, maybe this year would bring some changes into his love life, who knew?

“Do you feel like sharing?” Ron asked, in the same time biting off the head of a chocolate frog.

“Nah, nothing important. So, Hermione. Your parents send greetings, and hope you would bring your mysterious boyfriend for Christmas.” Harry grinned at them, satisfied with changing the subject. Hermione left to the Borrow two weeks before the end of the holidays, telling her parents that she was visiting her boyfriend, although she didn’t tell them whom specifically.

“Thank god Christmas are so far away then.” She said, patting Ron on his cheek.

“Hey! I wouldn’t embarrass you in front of your parents!” Ron answered, offended, and shoveled the rest of his chocolate into his mouth.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Harry laughed with her as Ron turned a little red, trying not to choke on it.

“Don’t worry mate, maybe you will learn how to eat till Christmas.”

“Oh, it’s a lost cause. Mum had tried to teach him that, since he was old enough to comprehend that maybe eating everything what his hands could grab, wasn’t the smartest idea. She didn't succeed, as you can see." The familiar voice came from the door, and all of them turned into this direction.

“Ginny!” Harry jumped up from the bench, and hugged her tightly. “So good to see you.” He said, giving her a bright smile.

“You too, Harry. Seriously, I don’t know why you couldn’t visit whole summer. Our home is as safe as any other, you know.”

“I’m sorry, really, but you know Dumbledore. One could hardly disagree with him.”

Ginny nodded and eyed him up and down.

“Wow Harry, I swear that you are getting more and more handsome every year. Still exercising, aren’t you?”

Harry gave her his confident smile, trying to hide a little blush on his cheeks, and said sitting down again.

“Thanks, Gin. Yeah, it kind of became a habit now.”

“Well, it definitely pays off. I’m so jealous of your future boyfriend." She sent him a wink when Ron, this time, had choked on his food for real.

He started to exercise more at the end of the holidays last year, when he had heard a suggestion from Neil. Gaining a little muscle weight would have stopped him from feeling so defenseless, he had said, and as usually, he turned out to be right. Not to mention that he really looked better. He had to rearrange his wardrobe, as he became too wide in shoulders, and his chest was too broad for most of his old shirts. Still, it wasn’t as broad as those men’s from magazines he had ordered anonymously, a few months ago (not like he was going to admit that to anyone of course). However, what he liked the most were his arms. Beautifully curved, and not like the ones of a boy anymore. He was much stronger now, and felt really good with this strength. Strong enough, that if anyone wanted to do anything alike that had already been done to him, he would have pushed this person off, without any problems. Not as if that was his biggest motivation, anyway.

Harry wasn’t used to feeling so confident as he did recently, but he wasn’t ashamed of it. Hell, how was he going to face, not to mention, defeat Voldemort, acting like a scared, broken child? No, that wasn’t an option, and he was really glad he came so far. Of course, it was a long road and he wouldn’t pretend, especially in front of himself, that everything was fine but… the nightmares would clear off one day. 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” Harry answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“Don’t be silly. With this look every guy in this school is at your command.” Ginny said, smiling. She knew about his sexuality since the time he told her, when journalists had started pressing her for details of their suspected relationship. She also told him, that she knew. How was it that people knew it even before him? Was he really that obvious?

“Aww, and you are even cuter when you blush.”

Ron and Hermione were laughing openly now, what made him blush even harder.

“Stop it guys, that’s really embarrassing, for Merlin’s sake.”

“You know, Ginny, someone could think that you’re really in love with him.” Ron said, catching his breath.

“Oh no, of course not. You’re like a brother to me Harry, you know that.”

“We better change to robes.” Hermione noticed, after looking out of the window. “We will be at Hogsmeade in no time.”

The rest of the journey was spent by them chatting and putting robes on, and Harry was more than happy that they were together again. No matter what happened, he had the best friends in the world.

***

The Great Hall prepared for this year’s welcoming feast looked even more magical than last year, if that was possible. The amount of candles, flying around the room was so enormous, that for a second Harry thought that Dumbledore had wanted to burn the castle down. Then he realized that it was probably the house elves’ job anyway, and when he suggested his idea to Hermione, her comment was:

“Well, Harry, if you actually had read the “Hogwarts: A History” you would have known that the Headmaster's duties are far more pressing than lightening candles.” She rolled her eyes at him, making him feel really silly.

“Your ignorance will never fail to astonish me, Potter.” Came a scathing reply from behind them.

Harry turned around on his heel, and looked straight into the bottomless, dark eyes of his the most loathed teacher.

“Good evening, professor Snape." He answered, ignoring his remark.

“Seeing your face has already ruined it.” The man passed them, without another glance in their direction, as his black robes fluttered behind him on his way to the Head Table. The silence that followed was full of astonishment.

“Well, it looks like a great start in this new year.” Harry muttered under his breath, sitting between Ron and Neville by the Gryffindor table.

“Sorry mate, this git will never change.” Ron patted his back, sending him a comforting smile.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

The rest of their conversation was cut off by their Head of The House, when Minerva Mcgonagall appeared in the Great Hall with a stool in one hand, and the Sorting Hat in the other. Over fifty frightened first-years followed her every step, looking around with big eyes full of admiration which bordered with worship. Harry recalled how he felt this day so many years ago. Who could blame them for this adoration, when Hogwart’s greatness was surprising even him, more and more with every year?

“When I call your name, please step forward and put the Sorting Hat on your head. After it tells you the name of the House which you are assigned to, proceed to the adequate table.” Said the Deputy Headmistress, pulling out the rolled sheet of parchment.

“Aiden, Thomas.”

Too short for his age boy climbed on the stool, and after a few seconds a loud “Ravenclaw!” blasted out from the Hat’s tear which opened like a mouth. Thomas grinned, and after jumping off the stool, he ran quickly to the proper table. Only when the laughs of older students brought him back to reality, he came back, and with shaking hands put the Sorting Hat on the stool again.

Harry wrinkled his forehead with impatience as his stomach grumbled. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Zeta Olivia was sorted into Slytherin, and Albus Dumbledore rose from his embellished chair.

“I greet you all, my dear students, to another year in Hogwarts! For some of you, it’s going to be a very productive year, for the others maybe a little less, but nevertheless I hope we will all have amazing time here. Without any redundant dilation – enjoy!” After loud applause, probably caused more due to the shortness of this speech, rather than its content, the food finally appeared on the tables. For a second, Harry wondered if all the students were starved at homes, judging by their excitement, but then the smells of all those meals reached his nose, and he simply followed their example.

 ***

Slowly, the loud chattering of hundreds of people calmed down a little, when mostly younger students were too full and too tired to talk. That was an explicit sign for the Headmaster to rise again.

“I’m really sorry, that I have to delay your most deserved rest for a few more minutes, but I have some important issues to raise.” Dumbledore’s eternal smile made his eyes sparkle.

“First of all, I would like to introduce you to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Please welcome one of the aurors, Nymphadora Tonks!”

The sympathetic applause went around the Great Hall, and the Golden Trio exchanged knowing smiles. Gossips spread quickly in the Burrow, and all of the Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, already knew that Tonks was going to accept the position.

“Thank you. The second thing I have on my mind is connected to the war which, unfortunately, is taking place in our and also in the Muggle world, as you well know.”

All sleep forgotten, the attention of all students was focused on Dumbledore again. Harry furrowed his brows, trying to read anything from the Headmaster’s facial expression. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could give away what it was all about, and his eyes moved to the left, involuntarily meeting those which held everything, but kindness in them.

Snape was sitting very uptight, his face a complete mask, except for those black eyes, as he stared at Harry with something that could only be called as puzzlement. What was even more surprising, he didn’t break the eye-contact, but unconsciously caressed his right thumb over his lips, deep in thoughts. Harry was so astonished that he missed the first few words of Dumbledore’s speech.

“… that’s why we've decided to conduct special… project this year.” Harry teared off his gaze from Snape, and focused on the Headmaster again. What was going on?

“Some of you will be chosen for a specially prepared program. The choosing will be done by the Sorting Hat, and those of you who exhibit special skills will be matched to a personal tutor.”

Dumbledore had to rise his voice as the noise of the students jumped up a few levels.

“This tutor will be one of the professors from our staff of course, please don’t be silly Miss Abertoth, no one is going to send you to the Forbidden Forest for a whole year.” Dumbledore smiled as some of the students giggled. Most of them however, were too focused on finding out details to pay attention to some second year girl.

“The project involves students from sixth and seventh year only, as the rest of you are too young for that kind of training, I’m afraid. I assure you, none of the professors know who is going to be chosen that’s why I am obligated to ask you, not to bother them with that kind of questions. More details will be presented to you the next Friday evening, when the choosing will take place. For now, I wish you sweet dreams and good night!” With those words Dumbledore sat again, and Snape immediately leaned over to whisper something into his ear. What Harry would give to find out what they were talking about!

“Well, that was unexpected.” Hermione said, wrinkling her forehead.

Ron laughed under his breath, saying, “Finally something that you didn’t know, Hermione."

She completely ignored him, following leaving professors with her eyes.

“So, who do you think will be chosen?” Ron asked excitedly, getting up from the bench and poking his girlfriend in the arm. “Come on Hermione. Let’s go to the Tower already. Few more minutes and I will fall asleep on the table.”

Harry got up too, and followed his friends out of the Great Hall.

“Harry of course.” Neville said, walking beside him. “You too, Hermione. I mean, come on, you are the smartest person in this school.”

Hermione blushed and hit him lightly in the arm. “Shush it Neville. I’m sure that the Sorting Hat is not going to choose students by the number of books they have read.”

“You are much more than the books you read.” Ron said, shrugging his shoulders. To his surprise, Hermione stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.

“I think that was the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Ron.” She said, blushing even harder.

Harry rolled his eyes, smiling fondly at them.

“I think it will be Malfoy.” He said, looking over his shoulder to check if any Slytherins were walking nearby. “By this chance, we could persuade him to join our side.”

“Why would you want Malfoy on our side?” Ron asked with disgust.

“The more the better, Ron. Plus, someone like Malfoy, sneaky, smart and Slytherin to the bone is very valuable.” He answered, trying to hold back a yawn.

“Harry is right.” Hermione said. “It has to be Malfoy. I have no doubt that you will be chosen too, Harry, but what I’m more interested in, is which professors will be chosen. Snape for Malfoy, and Dumbledore for you? Maybe Mcgonagall?”

“No idea and I’m too damn tired to worry about this now.” He answered and sighed with relief when they reached the Fat Lady.

“Oak Tree.” Neville said, and they entered the Common Room. It was filled with students who, in spite of their weariness, were gossiping about the news they had heard.

“I’m off to bed now.” Harry said, heading towards the stairs.

“Yeah me too.” Neville followed him, and Harry was less than surprised, when Ron mumbled something about staying for a little longer as he knew they wanted to spend some alone time with Hermione.

It didn’t even take him five minutes before he was fast asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next Monday morning, the whole school had turned into the betting market. Only during breakfast, Harry had heard at least five students who were betting on him being matched with Dumbledore. What surprised him, however, were bets on Hagrid and Malfoy. What kind of people would spend their money on something that ridiculous? Harry had no idea. He wasn’t too focused on that anyway, Monday morning had brought far more pressing matters. Like feeling sorry for himself due to double Potions right after breakfast.

And having them again on Wednesday.

“Tell me again, why have I chosen Potions this year?” Harry asked Hermione with distress on their way to the dungeons.

“Because you want to be an auror.” She answered, rolling her eyes. “And if you ask me this question once again, I will Silencio you.”

They reached the class, which luckily was still rather deserted, and their favorite back seats still free. Harry fell onto his chair, deliberately disregarding a small group of Slytherins, who were gathered around Malfoy. The boy was sitting on one of the desks, waving his legs, and looking as if he owned the damn place. The second Harry appeared in the classroom, he whispered something to surrounding him classmates, and the whole lot burst out laughing. 

“Potter? What are you doing here? Classes for idiots are held outside, with this pathetic imitation of a teacher.” More giggles followed Malfoy’s words, as he jumped of the bench, and sauntered over to the Gryffindor.

Harry ignored him, considering himself mature enough to do so.

“I’m talking to you, Potter.” Malfoy’s hand gripped his arm painfully, and he found himself turned to Draco’s direction involuntary.

“Piss off, Malfoy!” Harry jerked away his arm from the boy’s grip immediately, and stood up, barely stopping himself from pushing the boy away. “Don’t you _ever_ touch me like that again, do you hear me?” He hissed into Slytherin’s face, trying to rein in his anger.

“Or what, Potter? Will you run to Dumbledore and whine how others treat his Golden Boy?”

“Why don’t _you_ run to Voldemort and whine how your precious daddy is treated in Azkaban?”

Draco’s face turned even whiter than it normally was, an ugly expression appearing all over it.

“I will kill you, Potter, when only I get a chance. I swear it.” His tone was deadly serious, and Harry would take this threat exactly like that, if not for the anger running through his veins.

“Well, what’s stopping you now?” He sneered, leaning forward, his eyes flashing dangerously with an unspoken challange. 

Malfoy gritted his teeth, wand out and ready in just a blink of an eye. 

“What is going on here?” Snape’s cold voice came out from the door. He slammed it shut, and slowly made his way to the front of the classroom.

“Potter is insulting my father, sir.” Malfoy answered, straightening his robes, and skilfully hiding his wand from Snape's view. 

“Is that true, Mr. Potter?” Snape lifted his eyebrow, boring his eyes into Harry’s. The boy gritted his teeth, promising to himself, that he would not allow his teacher to intimidate him.

“I’ve only asked, if he liked his current place of staying, professor. It’s not my fault that Malfoy took it as an insult.”

If Harry had thought, that he had ever seen a really cold gaze, he was definitely proved wrong now. If they could, Snape’s eyes would probably turn him into an icicle. They stared at each other for a few too long seconds, until Harry felt like every little hair on his body stands up, and finally Snape’s voice cut through the silence.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for your impertinence, Potter. Now sit down, or you will be forced to brow your potion outside this classroom. Mr. Malfoy, I believe you know your way to your sit as well. ”

Harry did as he was told, barely stopping himself from snarling. 

“If no one wants to disturb me with this childish behavior anymore, shall we start?”

The rest of the lesson was one big mess for Harry. He was angry at Malfoy for starting up, angry at Snape for his unfairness, but mostly, he was angry at himself for letting someone provoke him like that. At the end, Malfoy was just his typical self, he should have learnt to ignore him throughout all those years.

Snape was right, they were childlish.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly, sending him a concern look. “You’re smashing those bettle’s eyes instead of cutting them.”

Harry looked down and sighed at the mess he did.

“Yeah, sorry. Just overthinking, like usually.”

“Malfoy is a dumb ass, don’t worry about him.” Hermione said, touching his arm with a comforting gesture. At least to her touch he was used to.

“I know.” He sighed again, and tried to focus on his work. There wasn’t really anything he could do to save his potion at this point, but at least it would occupy his mind for awhile.

Ten minutes before the end of the lesson Snape raised from his sit, and took his usual round between the cauldrons. His attitude got even nastier throughout the summer, judging by his critical comments when he dispraised even some of the Slytherins, however Harry promised to himself, that he would keep his temper at check this time. He was still hanging on to that, when he felt a hot breath on his exposed neck as the professor stood right behind him, peering at his potion.

“I didn’t think you would improve your potions skills during the holidays, Potter, but I haven’t expected you could have actually worsen them. That can hardly be called a _potion._ ” Snape’s voice was full of a fake amazement. “At least now I can point out who did the worst work today.”

Harry clenched his fists, breathing through his nose, and trying to remain calm.

“Any explanation?” Snape took two steps, and stood right in front of the boy’s desk.

And there they were again. Those horribly piercing eyes, making Harry feel so uneasy, so uncomfortable with their deepness, as if only single step was enough and he would be drawn into them.

“There’s no explanation, sir. I’m really sorry, but I've messed it up." He replied, without realising that he was holding his breath. He hoped that an honest answer would irritate his professor slightly less, than some lie.

Snape stared at him for a few long seconds, an ureadable expression in his eyes, only to say finally; 

“You did, indeed, Mr. Potter. Five points from Gryffindor, and you will write me a two feet essay on what exactly you did wrong.”

Surprisingly, the tone was far less biting than Harry had expected it to be, so maybe his approach was at least appreciated. Hell, it was probably the first time ever, that he actually admitted that it was his fault.

“Of course, sir.”

Snape drew himself up, his eyes never leaving Harry's. It made the boy's skin itch with nervousness, and the tension was knotting him up. Finally, Snape flicked his wand over the the boy’s cauldron, cleaning it from the ruined potion, and moved to another bench.

The bell rung announcing the end of the lesson, and Harry packed his things as fast as possible, eager to finally leave this classroom, and possibly this day far behind him.

***

The rest of the week was marked with growing anticipation all around the castle. It reminded Harry of the Triwizard Tournament, and the time before the Goblet of Fire was supposed to choose the participants. He just hoped that this time no scandal concerning his person would occur. Coming back to regular studying wasn’t as hard as he had imagined, he actually missed this feeling of knowledge slipping into his head. The power it brought.

On Thursday evening, just like every Thursday since the last holidays, Harry skipped dinner, heading into the Room of Requirement. He needed a good place to exercise, and also a good backup story for his constant disappearances. Ron and Hermione knew exactly where he was going, but if someone else had found out, he would be damned.

With a sigh of relief, he closed the door behind him, taking in the familiar look of his gym room. If he were honest with himself, he would say, that that was the only place where he could ever fully relax. Besides the obvious equipment, the room also contained small space for studying and practicing charms. He looked fondly at his favorite bottle-green armchair, where he could spend endless hours looking through the numerous pages of books, which would magically appear whenever he had thought about something specific that had brought his attention. In this way, he had studied basics of self-defense, which he would later practice on mannequins, the most useful combat hexes, meditation and finally – apparition out of Hogwarts.

Hermione had told him a million times that it was impossible, but having had stubbornness in his blood since birth, he couldn’t let it go. Especially, that he needed to leave Hogwarts from time to time. For the first month, he didn’t find anything. Every book was telling him exactly the same, only in different words: that was completely impossible. But then something did catch his attention.

No one could do that. Except for the Headmasters.

So at the end, it was possible, one only had to be the Headmaster.

Harry had spent hundreds of hours discussing with Hermione, what exactly could be the reason behind that. Was it their power? They ruled out that option at the very beginning, realizing that many people were equally strong, or even stronger, Voldemort for instance. And still no one had seen him walking around the corridors, waving to students, right? So they dig deeper and deeper, but nothing occurred to them. Until a week before Christmas.

Murders of muggles weren’t publicized as much, because people kind of got used to it, no matter how horrid it seemed. The Ministry was always selling some bullshit, only to calm the society down, while in reality they were doing exactly nothing to stop Voldemort. However, a week before Christmas, happened something that in the history books would be called as “Massacre under Rainpoth”.

The Death Eaters had slaughtered a whole village of Wizards in one night. Three hundreds people dead, only because their community was openly encouraging mixed marriages. That caused a thunder in the Wizarding World. Strikes took place all over the Great Britain, protests against Ministry, and their useless work, against Voldemort. Increased violence against everyone, who was known of being a Slytherin and, of course, against Harry. The Prophet had almost crucified him. Some of the “milder” headlines compared him to Voldemort himself, accused him of hiding and leaving the Wizarding World all to itself. Some people even testified, that they had seen him between the Death Eaters. He was receiving hundreds of howlers a day, what made Dumbledore block all his post, until the matter didn't settle down, as the tables in the Great Hall, as well as most of the Common Room’s furniture, were on the verge of burning. Harry wasn’t immune to that kind of treating, but the last straw that broke the camel’s back was when some of the Ravenclaws had actually attacked him in the bright day, in the middle of a corridor. He fought back, and after that, he ran straight to his favorite place -the Room of Requirement. He broke down right in that moment, in the middle of the floor, and thought that he wouldn’t last another second in this horrible pain, guilt and unfairness consuming his from insight out. After everything that had happened to him, it was simply too much. He was recovering, and they were only putting more into his plate.

He was ready to give up completely, fuck all those months of therapy, as he begged for relief; just one minute of nothingness, silence. And exactly in that second, he apparated. Straight into Neil’s consulting room, who luckily wasn’t there because if he were… Harry had no idea how he could have possibly explained showing himself suddenly, and out of nowhere, to a Muggle. He was all panicked anyway, and couldn’t really think straight, only when Neil walked in after few minutes, he got all the help needed.

The biggest issue, however, was coming back to Hogwarts. He had spent at least an hour in the bathroom, trying to recall the sensations he felt during this unexpected apparition, and finally, it worked. And then Harry realized, that the wards had let him to do this. He was in an extremely needy situation, and subconsciously, he had to send them a request of some kind, and sensing that he held no harm against the school, they let him to apparate. Harry told no one of his discovery, out of respect to this old and powerful magic. If he did, it would have felt like a treason. At the end, it showed him a way to escape.

After that day, he promised to himself, that he would _never_ let the Wizarding World to break him like that, as if he didn’t have enough issues of his own. He started walking with his head up again, fighting back all the comments, and even published an official statement to the Prophet. He threatened, that if they hadn't withdrawed all those ridiculous accusations, he would sue them, and they really did not want a war with him. At the end, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, right? The now constant feeling of surrounding him wards, gave him confidence, and he trained even harder than before. He also practiced newly found out skill, and was apparating all over the Room of Requirement, until the wards were so familiar with him, that it was almost effortless. He considered himself very lucky indeed, and never connected the dots that maybe, he was actually special in some way.

 ***

“Good evening, Mr. Potter.” A beautiful blonde woman greeted him, giving him her professional smile.

“Hi, Jolie. How are you?” He asked politely, returning the smile.

“Fine, thank you. Mr. Harris is already waiting for you.”

“Right, thanks.”

He passed her desk, heading to the door, and knocking firstly, he entered the room.

“Hello, Harry. Sit down, please. Fancy some tea?” Neil rose from his chair, and they shook hands, before Harry took the sit on the couch.

“Yes, thank you.”

Neil put the kettle on, and without turning into his direction, asked:

“So how is school?”

“Fine so far. Busy. I feel pretty melancholic about this year, tho.”

“The last one?”

Harry nodded his head, sighing.

“I have no idea what I’m going to do after this. I thought I was meant to be a...” He cut, looking for a second for a proper name. “A policeman.” He finally said, smiling a little.

“But now I’m not that sure.” The _I’m not sure If I’m even going to survive this year,_ stayed in his head.

“A policeman?” Neil rose his eyebrows at him, putting two cups of tea on the coffee table, in front of the couch. He sat next to Harry, turning into his direction. His blue eyes sparked with suppressed laughter.

Neil was a tall, handsome man, although not in Harry’s style. Yes, he admired his almost blue-black eyes, and sharp cheek-bones, but the blonde didn’t really suit him. He definitely preferred black. Black as coil.

“Don’t laugh!” Harry giggled himself, relaxing into the couch.

“Well, I do have to admit, that I have never expected that you wanted to be a policeman." Neil answered, eying him up and down.

“No? Then what did you expect?” Harry asked, a small smile never leaving his lips.

Neil tilted his head, and the boy could feel this intense, slow gaze wandering over his body. The unexpected wave of heat hit him, and he begged that it wouldn’t show on his cheeks.

“You could do for some model magazine actually.” Neil gave him a dry smile.

“Fuck you Neil!” Harry burst out laughing, imaging his friends’ faces, after he had told them, that he would like to be a model.

“Come on, really. You’re good looking, maybe you should give it a shot.” Neil's gaze didn't lose any of its heat, and Harry felt like something warm spreads down in his abdomen, heading lower and lower. 

“Nope, thank you. And besides, I’m too short for that.” He always enjoyed their talks. Neil had this way of making him feel so casual around himself, that Harry sometimes forgot that he was his therapist, at the end. Also, the fact that the man was in his mid-twenties didn't help the matter. 

“Maybe a little. Nevertheless, you would make a cute model.” Neil touched his arm lightly, but this supposedly innocent touch sent sparks down Harry's arm. 

Harry smiled, raising his eyebrows. He wasn’t exactly sure where all of this headed to, but he couldn’t deny being curious.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asked, suddenly realizing that yes, Neil’s eyes were really intoxicating. And full of something luring.

The older man leaned into his direction, his mouth dangerously close to his skin.

“You tell me, Harry. Am I flirting with you?” The quiet whisper right next to his ear gave him goosebumps, and Harry could feel every one of his raced heart beats.

“I think yes.” He answered quietly, his voice low and harsh. He had never felt like that, anticipation growing inside of his stomach, and spreading slowly all over his body. Making him tremble.

“Correct answer.” Neil leaned in even closer, his gaze dropping to Harry’s lips for a second, and Harry definitely noticed that. “And what are you going to do with that?”

Harry’s breath hastened, when he finally gave up, and broke the distance as his mouth landed on Neil’s in a tender kiss, which very quickly escalated, when the man’s hand slipped into his hair pulling him closer. Neil tasted exactly like Harry had expected him to. Sweet, comforting, save. He felt how his eyelids fall, when the kiss sucked him in, and he moaned quietly, reaching for the man’s shirt, and clenching it with his hands. Neil used the opportunity, and gently slid in his tongue into Harry’s inviting mouth, not being able to suppress a moan of his own.

When Harry backed away finally, he was breathing definitely too fast, and his cheeks were too red for his liking. At least now, no one could argue with him, if he were really gay. He definitely was, and his body’s reactions proved it.

“That was unexpected. ” He said, touching his lips with one of his fingers. “Unexpected, but not unwelcome.”

He kissed Neil once again, and this time it was the older man, who draw back, pressing his hand into Harry’s chest, when the boy tried to get even closer.

“Harry.” He whispered. “I shouldn’t have." He shook his head. “We’re definitely crossing the patient-doctor line here.” He laughed, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“I guess we have passed that long time ago, don’t you think?” Harry answered sighing, and reached for his already cold tea. All of the sudden he was very thirsty.

“Yeah, you are right probably. That reminds me of something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Well, I have some other ideas, than talking right now.” Harry grinned, reaching with his hand to brush away few curls from Neil’s face.

“It’s important.” His voice was suddenly serious, and Harry pulled his hand back with another sigh.

“All right then, what is it?”

Neil knitted his eyebrows, and the boy felt suddenly very nervous. He knew he wouldn’t like what the man had to say, guessing from his face.

“I don’t think that you need my help anymore, Harry.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head immediately.

“What are you talking about? Of course I need it. I can’t...” he stopped, panic crawling up his throat. “I won’t manage without you.”

Neil took Harry’s hand into his own, and squeezed it lightly.

“You are doing great. You didn’t have any panic attacks in four months, or break downs. And look at you! The change is incredible. Your confidence shines from your face, Harry.” Neil brushed his cheek with his fingertips, but instead of affection, more panic spread through Harry’s chest.

“Shh, it’s okay Harry. I’m not saying that you should never see me again. Only that you should start getting used to this thought. Think about it, okay?”

Harry took a deep breath and stood, suddenly too nervous to sit.

“I’ve got to go.” He said, turning away and heading into the door’s direction.

Neil jumped off the couch, and grabbed his arm, not allowing him to leave.

“Wait, please. I don’t want you to take it a wrong way.”

“Wrong way? You have just kissed me, twice! And now you are telling me that I should stay away from you?!” Harry pulled out his arm from the man’s grip, and took a step away from him.

“Well, technically you kissed me, but that’s not the point. What I’m saying is that...” Neil sighed heavily, combing his own hair with fingers. “That we don’t have a professional relationship anymore. Maybe it’s time that we move on from that?”

“To what?”

“Friends? We could go from that.”

“I thought we were friends already.” Harry said angrily, shaking his head.

“We are, but I don’t want me, being your therapist, stop us from anything friends would do, like going out, or things like that. We are friends in this room, but we are strangers on the street, Harry.”

He could have seen, that Neil was really trying to explain what he meant, and Harry did his best to understand. He met the man’s eyes, deep in thoughts and nodded.

“Okay, I could do that. But I don’t want to stop coming here. I still need it, no matter what you think.”

Neil rose his hands in a defensive way, and answered:

“All right, I may be your hm… therapist with benefits.” He smiled lightly, relief written all over his face.

“Okay.” Harry returned the smile hesitantly, his heart not really into this, and touched the knob with his hand. “I really have to go now. I will see you next week?”

“Yes, of course.”

The last that he saw, before closing the door, was Neil’s reassuring smile. Harry sighed, and left the building, knowing that he would spend most of this week figuring out what exactly had happened this night.


	3. Chapter 3

The noise in the Great Hall was enough cover for the Golden Trio to talk freely during breakfast, as Harry’s comeback to the castle was definitely too late for him to tell his friends about everything. He had tried to sort it out himself yesterday, laying restlessly in bed, but the only outcome was his falling eyelids this morning, from the lack of sleep.

“He did what?!” Hermione’s scream made quite a few students turn their heads in their direction. Maybe the noise wasn’t loud enough after all.

“Shh, Hermione! You do realize that I don’t exactly want the whole school to know about it, don’t you?” Harry sent a warning look at eaves-dropping students, who turned their attention back to their breakfast reluctantly.

“I’m sorry, but...” Hermione dropped her voice, although the shock was still present on her face. “He’s your therapist, Harry! That’s not exactly one of his duties, you know, not to mention the ethic of it.” She shook her head, sighing heavily.

“Come on Hermione, don’t exaggerate. He’s Harry’s therapist, true, but it makes him someone who knows him. It’s not such a bad thing. Imagine him being with someone from school, the news would be all over the Prophet as we speak.” Ron shrugged his arms.

“Yeah, but he can manipulate him! The way the therapy works, and what kind of things they share. It’s not objective anymore, and that’s what makes it useless.”

“Harry could always find another therapist, couldn’t he?”

“And go through the same thing all over again?”

“Can you please stop?” Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to get rid of his slowly building headache. “It’s not like we are together, you know. It was just a kiss, okay? Just a kiss. Completely meaningless.”

“Was it really, Harry?” Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, and he couldn’t really fight off his blush. Well, if he were honest with himself, he would admit to being curious at least. It was the first time he had ever kissed a guy, so no one could really blame him, right? He was seventeen, single, and horny as fuck, just like every guy in his age. Between the war, Dursleys, and his therapy, he didn’t have much time to actually look for someone who could, and would, make him a little less horny. Not to mention love. So really, who could blame him for being a little too desperate?

“He just needs to get laid.” Ron looked at him with knowing expression on his face, and laughed when Harry got even redder. “No need to be ashamed of that, mate. That’s completely normal. And having been through everything that you have been, I’m pretty amazed you didn’t, I don’t know, explode or something.”

“Ron!” Hermione hit him in the arm, red spots visible on her cheeks too. “Can’t you be a little more subtle?”

Harry stuffed his mouth with scrambled eggs, trying to avoid this conversation as much as he could. He started to regret that he had told his friends, even though he knew they would get it out of him eventually.

Ron gave him a measured look, suddenly deep in thoughts, and when Harry hoped that they had finally moved on to different topic, the red haired boy said:

“You know, actually, I could ask Charlie about it. Maybe he could help you out somehow.”

Harry choked on his food, and Hermione had to pat his back so it wouldn’t get stuck in his gullet.

“I’m not going to bed with your brother, Ron.” He managed to say with watery eyes, when most of his food passed his throat.

“What?! No! Merlin, Harry! Do you want me to vomit all over this place? I meant, he could take you to some kind of club, or somewhere where he goes, and meets those boyfriends of his.”

Harry looked at him with surprise, and his immediate denial died on his lips.

“He could, Ron?”

“Harry! You aren’t really considering it, are you? I’m sure you want something more than a meaningless shag against the wall, do you?” Hermione’s lips were puckered as if she couldn’t even imagine this situation.

“I’m not looking for anything serious, either. Not when the war is still as far from ending, as it can be.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t mean to have my first time with someone whom I don’t know, but a little fun never hurt nobody, right?”

“Exactly, Hermione.” Ron smiled at her brightly. “I’ll write him asap.”

Their female friend only sighed with clearly heard disappointed, and got up from the bench.

“You two better hurry up, if you don’t want to be late on Transmutation.” She said, and turning on her heel, she marched out from the Great Hall. The boys sat in astonished silence for a few seconds, gazing at her leaving back. 

“Girls. They don’t understand us, boys, do they?” Ron muttered under his breath, and the only thing Harry could do, was to agree with his best friend.

 ***

The rest of the day went by as smooth as it could, with Harry falling asleep only during the History of Magic, which was rather profitable, as at least during dinner, when the matching was supposed to take place, he wouldn’t feel too tired.

The nervous atmosphere was evaporating from every corner of the castle, and even though Harry didn’t give too much thought to this evening since the day it had been announced, he found himself being a little nervous too. He had no doubt that he would be matched with someone, he simply didn’t know what it would mean. And with whom he would be matched, that was sill a mystery. He hoped for Dumbledore, Tonks maybe. Mcgonagall was also a good choice. There were some people he could cross out of this list without any doubts, like Hagrid or Sprout. Or Snape. There was no way he would be matched with Snape, merely the idea of it made him snort with laughter, and when Ron sent him a questionable look, he just shook his head.

Secretly, without Hermione knowing, Harry and Ron bet on her being matched with Mcgonagall, as that was one of the most possible scenarios. They also bet on Malfoy and Snape what was almost one hundred percent certain too.

They sat on their usual bench, a little surprised when they saw no food on the tables. They assumed the matching would take place after the dinner, when everyone was satisfied with their food at least, but clearly the Headmaster had had different plan. The Sorting Hat was already placed on the top of the stool usually used for the Sorting, and with every passing second Harry felt more and more nervous, despite himself. He looked at the Head Table, and at the chatting professors, who seemed to be almost as nervous as students. Except for Snape, of course, who looked like he couldn't have been more bored in his life than in this exact moment, even if he tried, what didn’t surprise Harry at all. Nothing could make him loose his composure, it seemed. As if knowing that the boy was thinking about him, Snape’s eyes met his, and Harry felt a strange tickle of anxiety in his stomach. He quickly turned away, and joined in his friends’ conversation, not wanting his professor to think that he was staring. Which he wasn’t. Obviously.

“Good evening, my dear students!” The Headmaster finally rose, cutting all the conversations. Everyone looked at him with growing anticipation in their eyes, and pure curiosity written all over their faces. Even though the matter didn’t include younger students, they all couldn’t wait for this evening to start.

“I realize you’re probably very hungry, not only for food,” he giggled at his own joke “but we 've decided that keeping you in dark for a whole dinner would be cruel. The matching will take place in alphabetical order among six and seven years students. As you know, there are thirteen professors in our school, including me, but only ten of us will take part in this project, as the remaining three have different obligations.” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes sparkling like always. Harry already knew all of that, because during their Care of Magical Creatures, they had managed to get some information out of Hagrid, who was one of the three teachers who wouldn’t participate. He resigned due to his duties as a teacher, and as an older brother to Group, who required most of his attention anyway.

“It means that only ten of you will benefit from this project, as it’s not possible for one teacher to tutor more than one student. Do not think any less of yourself, if you were not chosen. I assure you, that won't mean that you lack any qualities, or that you are less smart. The Sorting Hat has its own way of looking inside people’s minds, and it will choose wisely those of you, who may turn out to be the most useful during these dark times. In fact, you should be glad if you weren't chosen, because it will mean that you won't have to be involved in the war, if you chose so. Let’s begin then. Professor Mcgonagall?” Dumbledore turned into her direction, smiling brightly, and Harry couldn’t shake off feeling a little nauseous, by looking at this smile. The stern looking witch got up from her chair, looking around the students, but not leaving the Head Table. 

“When I call your name, please step forward, and put the Sorting Hat on your head.” Mcgonagall said, straightening the list which had appeared on the table out of nowhere. “Ablon, Pamela.”

Despite Dumbledore’s words, the students who had heard “Next” were everything, but glad. Everyone approaching the Sorting Hat bore faithful expression only to be left solely disappointed, after just a few seconds, so despite being almost sure of his fate, Harry was growing more and more nervous with every minute.

The first one to be “chosen” was Blaise Zabini-Allan. The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head, when the name “Filius Flitwick” was shouted out of the Hat’s tear, and Blaise smiling brightly, came back to his place accompanied by a general applause from his housemates. The rest of the houses was a little less cheery, but nevertheless everyone clapped once or twice.

“What had happened to his surname?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Probably got some girl pregnant, and had to get married.” Ron shrugged with twisted smile on his face. Hermione just shook her head, ignoring his comment and answered:

“His parents got divorced, and now he also has a name after his mother.”

Harry wrinkled his forehead.

“So it works this way? Completely different than in the muggle world.” He murmured under his breath. “And I don’t want to know how you actually know all this stuff, Hermione.”

She just sent him a modest smile, while Ron muttered something about gossiping girlfriends. Harry was surprised that the Slytherin got to be chosen first, if not at all. If this tutoring thing was about the war with Voldemort, shouldn’t there be chosen people who were against him? It was a common knowledge that Blaise’s family was among Voldemort’s supporters, and it seemed that Zabini had smiliar views. But then Harry thought of Malfoy, and how he himself would choose him, and decided that the Sorting Hat probably knew what it was doing.

It didn’t take too many names for the second student to be chosen, as two people after Blaise, Susan Bones was paired with Septima Vector. Harry heard a moan coming from Hermione as professor Vector was her favorite teacher, and he patted her arm comfortingly.

“Mcgonagall still free, tho,“ he whispered, and she nodded even though the disappointed look didn’t quite vanish from her face.

The next one to go was Anthony Goldstein. He was matched with Bathsheda Babbling, Study of Ancient Runes’ teacher what was unexpected, as Harry didn’t expect the Ravenclaw boy to be interested in runes, but he guessed quite a few surprises were to occur this evening.

The next one in row was Hermione. Harry wished her luck with a whisper, before she got up, and he saw how Ron squeezes her hand reassuringly. Despite being pretty confident to be chosen, she seemed nervous, and Harry couldn’t really blame her. He was almost biting off his nails from nervousness, as the thing concerned not only him, but also his friends. On slightly shaking legs, Hermione walked over to the stool, and put the Hat on her head. The silence stretched only for a few tense seconds, when the name “Minerva Mcgonagall” fell from Hat’s tear. Harry breathed with relief, and gave a high five to Ron with a bright smile as their bets won on this one. Hermione, also smiling, came back to the table, and gave a quick nod in their professor’s direction. If they hadn't known Mcgonagall that well, they would have thought that she was also smiling a little.

“Congrats, Hermione.“ Ron bent, and gave her a peck on the lips, looking very proud of his girlfriend. “Not like it wasn’t to be expected.” He grinned to Harry.

Hermione frowned, which looked a little funny, as she was still smiling in the same time, and after a second of consternation, she exclaimed:

“You bet on this!”

The guilty faces of her friends were enough of an answer for her, but then she grinned again, wily expression on her face.

“Guess we will have to wait if my bets come true.” She said winking, turning in the direction of the Sorting Hat again, ignoring the shocked faces of Harry and Ron.

“You will never stop to astonish me, Hermione.” Ron whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist. Harry giggled at that, and focused his attention on the Sorting Hat as well.

When it was Neville’s turn, Harry crossed his fingers as he really hoped that some of the recognition would be given to his friend. He always considered Neville as a little unacknowledged, especially after their DA’s meetings. This guy needed more patience to “spread his wings”, and if given it, he could be bloody brilliant.

And Harry wasn’t mistaken, when in the second the Hat touched Neville’s head, it shouted “Pomona Sprout”. He clapped with all the other Gryffindors as loudly as he could, and when euphoric Neville came back to their table, he patted him on the shoulder.

“Great job, Neville.” He said, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and when the boy smiled back, Harry suddenly realized that he wasn’t the only one who had changed throughout last year. Neville was… well. He was handsome. Not in Harry’s taste, but nevertheless handsome. His cheeks had lost this baby fat kind of look, and became quite hard, sharp even. His smile was making his blue eyes shine brightly, which lit up his whole face, and only now Harry had noticed his stubble, which looked extremely good on him.

“You’re staring Harry.” Hermione whispered into his ear, and he quickly looked away, blushing a little at being caught. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one that has noticed. Most of the girls have been gossiping about Neville since the beginning of this year.” She told him quietly.

“You know what happened?” Harry asked, his eyes focused on Luna now, who was walking over to the Sorting Hat.

“Puberty happened Harry.” She rolled her eyes, and he stuck his tongue out at her. Hermione giggled, and at the same time the Sorting Hat shouted “Nimfadora Tonks”, when it touched Luna’s head. Again, Harry cheered for his friend, as he thought of Luna as someone who deserved all the best in her life, what included personal tutor. She was far more special than anyone realized, despite all her “weirdness”. Her heart was pure gold.

“That makes it four to go.” Ron whispered. “I’m never going to make it. Why does my name have to start with W?” He sighed heavily, putting his elbow on the table, and then propping up his chin on his palm.

“I don’t really think it matters, Ron.” Hermione said, biting her lip. “I think, if no one happens to be what the Sorting Hat is looking for, then it will continue through all the students.”

Ron sighed again, not really convinced. When Ernie Macmillan was matched with Aurora Sinistra, he got even duller.

“Watch out, it’s Malfoy’s turn now.” Hermione said, her voice tense.

The confidence was shining from Draco’s every pore, as he walked to the stool in complete silence, and put the Sorting Hat on his head. Harry expected that it would take few seconds top for the Hat to shout “Severus Snape”, but one minute passed, and Malfoy was still sitting there. It seemed like he was having a heated conversation with the Hat, as two red marks appeared on his cheeks, and he was fidgeting on the stool. Whole school was holding its breath, it seemed, watching how the blond boy was clearly fighting with the Hat.

“What is going on?” He murmured to Hermione, but she only shook her head, and gestured for him to pay attention.

Harry found himself extremely tense when the silence prolonged, and was ringing loudly in his ears. Why wasn’t the Hat over with it already, and didn’t match Draco with Snape? He also started to fidget in his seat, stretching out his head to have a better look at the situation in front of him.

After what seemed like eternity, the Hat finally opened its tear, agonizingly slow, and shouted:

“Albus Dumbledore!”

Harry was sure he wasn’t the only one who was sitting with his mouth widely opened, too shocked to say anything.

“WHAT?” Ron shouted just like the other half of the school who wasn’t, just like Harry, gathering their teeth from the floor, and almost fell from his bench.

Draco sent them a murderous look, and threw the Hat on the stool, his anger obvious to everyone. He almost run to his seat, and when his housemates started to throw questions at him, he ignored them with all his might.

Harry looked at the Head Table just in time to see a smile full of satisfaction on Dumbledore’s lips. It seemed like he was very happy with this choice, what meant…  
Harry’s heart started to beat rapidly, as he was counting down the teachers, and students matched with them frantically.

“What the hell? That can’t be true, can it?” He said, his eyebrows so frowned it almost hurt. His palms were sweating already, and he shook his head trying to focus.

“The only option is, I won’t be chosen.” He said quietly, too frightened by the other possibility.

“What are you talking about Harry?” Ron looked at him puzzled, not following just yet.

“Dumbledore is out. What makes two teachers available. So it’s either Burbage or Snape for me. As it’s definitely neither of them, it means I won’t be chosen.” Harry explained, his heart calming a little, when he had said it out loud. It didn’t stay this way for too long, because when Mcgonagall read his name, he was sure everyone in the Great Hall could hear it beating frantically against his chest. He took a look at the Head Table, and met reassuring looks of both his Head of the House and Headmaster, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. If possible, their calmness only made it worse, because it meant that maybe they had taken it into consideration, while he was so confident…

The walk to the stool was one of the longest in his life, losing only slightly to the one which he was made to take, after the Goblet of Fire had thrown out his name. Before he put the Hat on his head, he took a deep breath, trying to convince himself (or more like fool himself), that he already had enough problems without this extra tutoring, so if he weren’t chosen it wouldn't be such a disaster. It would be a blessing.

“Harry Potter, such a long time since I had had a look into your mind.” The Hat’s voice sounded loudly in his head, as he squeezed his hands on his knees.

“Why did you match Malfoy with Dumbledore?” He asked, deciding that he was dying to know the truth.

“The issues between Mr. Malfoy and myself are exactly that. His and mine. Not yours, boy.” The Hat answered, and Harry could almost imagine its pursed lips. “I can only tell you, that I’m never mistaken. You will see it, Harry Potter.”

“You can not be right about this.” Harry hissed in his head, what was met with only a heavy sigh.

“Trust me, my boy. And now let me focus on your match. I can sense the change in you since our last meeting, however the reason behind it is too deeply hidden for me to see. You definitely don’t want your secrets to be known. I told you, you would make a great Slytherin.” The hat said, its voice a low murmur, as if it was thinking deeply.

“I can’t be matched with anyone now.” Harry answered quickly, confident that he was right after all, and deciding to ignore the rest of Hat’s speech.

“No? How is that, when I see a perfect match for you?”

Harry’s heart, which strangely calmed a little during their conversation, went off with the hummingbird’s speed again, and he wished he could stop the nausea climbing up his throat. He was wiping off his palms almost constantly now, wishing that this choosing was just another bad dream.

“Come on, you can’t match me with him!” His thought was so loud in his head, that he was sure that the whole school could have heard it. He barely stopped himself from actually screaming it out loud.

“My boy, I don’t really know why you are so against it. Can’t you see the resemblance between you two? Can’t you see how much you could benefit from him? He is a great wizard, that one. Oh yes...” The Hat seemed to get lost in its thoughts, praising on the quantity of this one wizard that Harry couldn’t imagine being tutored by.

“He hates me.” He tried once again, begging that the Hat would change its mind.

“Does he? I highly doubt that, Mr. Potter. And do you hate him as well?” the Hat asked, almost smiling.

Harry was taken aback by this question, and even more when the automatic “yes” wouldn’t pass his lips. Did he, indeed? It seemed that the only people Harry actually hated, were Voldemort and uncle Vernon, the rest compared to them almost like best friends to him. 

“You see my boy, hatred doesn’t come as easily as you imagine.” The Hat interrupted his thoughts, and this time he had to agree with it.

“Harry Potter, I believe you are one of the greatest wizards of our time. I can already tell you that, basing on your ability to apparate outside the Hogwarts, what makes you the very first wizard to be able to do that, beside the headmasters of course.” The Hat said, ignoring his shocked question, how did it know about this. “And I can assure you, that this choice will pay off."

Harry felt like his resistance weakens with every passing second, when he actually made an effort to think rationally about it, putting his prejudices aside. He would do anything to stop Voldemort at this point, and who knew more about him than one of his ex-, or not so ex-, followers? He had to admit, that it was starting to make a little sense to him now, no matter how much he didn’t like the idea itself. So what if he had to sacrifice himself again, and spend so much extra time with someone whom he didn’t like, lightly speaking? He would do this, if that was what was needed to be done.

“Harry Potter." The hat said, out loud this time, so the whole school could hear what it had to say. Harry opened his eyes, taking in a shaking breath, as his eyesight focused on the students gathered in the Great Hall. From their faces, he could tell that his conversation with the Hat took even longer than the Malfoy’s. He glanced briefly at Ron and Hermione, both of them noticeably concerned, as he turned around, his gaze meeting firstly Dumbledore’s, and later his tutor’s-to-be. The man's eyes were a mystery to him, like they have always been, and he suspected like they always would be, so different from his own, an open book almost. He already knew the decision, and when he actually came to the terms with it, he felt like a curtain of calmness falls all over him. He was The Chosen One at the end, nothing ordinary could ever happen to him. Harry was still maintaining the eye-contact, when the Hat’s tear opened once again, and words, which seemed strangely life-changing, sounded loud and clear around the Great Hall:

“I’m matching you with Severus Snape.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank you all for amazing comments and woow!! Over 1000 views! That's so amazing!! it makes me super happy and I just hope I will keep up with you and that I won't disappoint you. Hopefully you will grow as attached to those characters as I've already did and enjoy the reading!

A flicker of light danced at the edge of a glass, when Severus Snape had brought it to his lips, and took a satisfying sip. Firewhisky had never failed to improve his mood, even if only slightly, and this evening definitely required some improvement. He would never let it show, but tonight’s spectacle was… disturbing at least. Of course, he had taken this possibility into consideration, he would be foolish if he hadn’t (and one could say everything about Severus Snape except, that he was a fool), nevertheless the mere thought of this happening was making his stomach squirm. He suspected, that Dumbledore had his hand in this, because otherwise how could the Sorting Hat match him with Harry bloody Potter? Everyone was better than him. Even Granger girl, she at least was attentive, hardworking, not like Potter. Arrogant and lazy. Severus sighed heavily, and took another sip from his glass. If he had believed in god, he would have thought that the time to pay for his sins had just arrived. A sudden knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Severus waited a few seconds to gather his thoughts, before a sharp “enter” left his lips.

Potter walked into his quarters, and stood few feet before Snape’s desk. He gazed at the half-drunk glass of whiskey, small wrinkle appearing on his forehead as he said:

“Good evening, sir. We were told to come to our tutors’ right after dinner.”

His voice surprised Severus, because he had expected at least a little rebellious tone, but nothing like that was present there. Instead, he sounded confident, and as if he had accepted his fate. Too mature for Snape’s liking.

“Mr. Potter.” He acknowledged his presence and took yet another sip from his glass. He never drank in front of his students’, but he suspected that Potter would understand this time. He saw that the boy tried not to fidget, but Severus took his time before speaking again, his face a complete mask.

“I imagine you are not pleased with this development, any more than I am, but I suggest you to come to terms with it.” He said, eying Potter with a gold gaze.

“I've already done it, sir.” He answered, shrugging his narrow arms.

That surprised Severus even more. Why wasn’t the boy arguing, persisting that it had to be some kind of mistake, a joke maybe? He had expected that kind of behavior, and not this… calm agreement. Was it possible that Potter had actually grown up? And Snape hadn't noticed?

“I will not tolerate laziness here, Potter, I warn you. Neither sloppiness, nor some pathetic excuses. I am obligated to teach you something, and I hope you will show more capability than in Potions.” His lips arched in a sneer, his voice harsh, and he was fully aware of that. A flicker of anger flashed in Potter’s green eyes, but as fast as it appeared, it vanished.

“I understand, professor.” He just said, his voice neutral, and his look determined.

Surprisingly, Snape felt a sudden urge to grab the boy and shook him into reason. Why wasn’t he behaving like Severus had expected? He eyed his glass suspiciously. Maybe he shouldn’t have been drinking before Potter’s arrival.

“I expect you point at six thirty every Monday, Thursday and Saturday.” He said, deciding that the sooner he got rid of the boy, the better.

“Sir, I can’t Thursdays.” Potter answered, his gaze never leaving Snape’s eyes. “Could we do Wednesdays instead?”

“Why not?” He rose his brows, an ugly expression on his face. Who the boy thought he was to make conditions? If Severus had realized that he wasn’t too logical, he didn’t give a damn. He was going to be stuck with his enemy’s son for several hours, at least three times a week, for the rest of this year. He didn’t _want_ to be logical.

Potter seemed confused for a second, as he swept his hand through his jet-black hair carelessly, making it even messier than usually, and said simply:

“I… I have other obligations.”

Snape eyed him up and down, only now noticing the uptight shoulders and realizing how tense the boy actually was. It seemed like a sensitive topic, then. But what he had also noticed (and he didn’t want to admit it, even in front of himself), was how well-build Potter had become. Was it possible, that Quidditch practices were so intense, that he had gained so much muscle? He was also taller, and Snape suspected, that if he were to measure with him now, the height difference would be barely noticeable. His eyes lingered on Potter’s slim hips for a moment longer than appropriate, which were flattered by skinny jeans, sliding down a little, showing a hint of his bare, golden-like skin. Was it even allowed to wear jeans like that in this school? But what was distracting Severus the most, were boy’s eyes. So intensely green, so... captivating. He had always thought, that they were an exact copy of Lily’s, but looking into them now, he realized that they were few shades darker, like a wet moss in a dark, damp forest, where almost no light gets through the branches. The long lashes were framing them, casting a shadow on boy’s delicate cheeks.

Severus shook his head mentally, trying to remember it was Potter he was looking at. This Potter. Potter who he hated. Not Potter who he thought of as handsome.

“If you consider your other “obligations” more important than this, let it be your way.” He sneered at the boy, hoping he wasn’t caught staring.

“I wouldn’t ask, if it wasn’t really important, sir.” Potter had a nerve to look sheepishly, that not only made him look adorable (did he just describe Potter as “adorable”? There had to be something in his Firewhisky after all, because he was clearly losing his mind), but also made Severus curious what exactly was that urgent, that the boy couldn’t reschedule.

“I don’t care if it’s important or not.” Snape hissed through clenched teeth, deciding that he had had enough for today. He was clearly sensitive to alcohol’s influence, if after only two glasses, he started to imagine things. He dreamed about nothing else, just burrowing himself in his bed, and sleeping for the next twelve hours. As if it was ever possible for him to sleep that long. “I shall see you tomorrow then. You are dismissed.”

Potter only nodded, probably sensing that he wasn’t in the mood, and with a quiet “goodnight”, left his rooms. Severus finished his drink with a single gulp, trying to wash an image of Potter’s transfixing gaze down his throat, at which he failed miserably.

***

The second Harry walked into the Common Room, he thought that he had made a mistake, and instead of the well-known Gryffindor Tower, he landed in a night club of sorts. The loud music, which was effectively muted by thick walls, blasted out with its full force, and Harry, amazed for a few seconds, took in all the dancing, talking and laughing people, accompanied by the never-ending flow of butterbeers and, as he suspected, something much stronger (at least for the older students). It looked like the Gryffindors had decided that every reason to throw a party was good, and choosing the three of them to be a part of a special project was definitely good enough.

Harry spotted a waving in his direction Hermione, and walked over to her and, as it had turned out, to Ron with an already well-known Firewhisky in his hand.

“Funny,” he said, pointing at the glass with his head. “Snape was drinking exactly the same.” He grinned, when Ron almost spitted out the contents of his mouth, and sank into the near standing armchair.

“He was probably celebrating, wasn’t he? Now he can torture you as much as he wants.” Ron shook his head, but the image of Snape drinking his Firewhisky wasn’t enough for him to abandon his drink. Priorities.

“Well, actually, he didn’t look too happy if you ask me.” Harry answered, transfiguring a glass for himself out of pillow’s feather, and pulling it over for Ron to pour some alcohol into it. “I’d rather say, he looked pretty… dumbfounded. Or as dumbfounded, as you could say for Snape, of course.” He took a sip from his glass, sighing with relief. “Finally something to put my wracked nerves at ease.” He muttered under his breath.

“I can’t believe Neville was chosen over me.” Ron gritted his teeth angrily, eying the blond boy who was laughing with Ginny few seats away from them.

“Ron,” Hermione bit her bottom lip, exhaling heavily. “I’m sorry you weren’t chosen. But you’re seriously underestimating Neville.”

The red-haired boy clenched his fist as he bumped it in the handle of the couch he was sitting on with Hermione, a liquor in his glass swinging dangerously over the edges.

“Really ‘Mione? Do you seriously think I’m worse than Neville?” He almost screamed furiously, and Harry thanked all the heavens, that the music was loud enough that the boy in speech couldn’t hear them.

“I’m not saying you’re worse than him. It’s not about being better or worse, just like Dumbledore had emphasized. It’s about being suited well-enough with a teacher, who may turn out to get the best out of you, in a short time. So we can finally get this war over with.” She said, and then blushed when Harry snorted at her words.

“Thanks, it looks like my best match is with Snape. That was really comforting, Hermione.”

“Harry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it that way!” She buried her face in her hands, realizing that whatever she had to say, probably wouldn’t be good enough for either of her friends.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “Perhaps, I should have expected this outcome with my luck. And Ron, really, we can swap if you want. What do you say for Snape’s company, three times a week, for I have no idea how many hours, and the flow of biting remarks and insults? I will happily exchange that for some peaceful studying,” Harry clenched his jaw, trying to make his voice sound less bitter than it actually was in his head. He had thought, that the talk with the Sorting Hat erased some of his anxiety, but sitting now with his friends, going over the tonight’s events, made him all distressed again. And looking at all those partying people wasn’t really helping, as he couldn’t understand why they were actually celebrating. For him, this night was a complete disaster.

Ron looked at him, a small smile finally appearing on his face.

“Thanks, mate, but I will pass. On the second thought, I prefer my eventless existence, and being constantly not good enough, over Snape.” He said, stretching his long legs, crossed at ankles.

“I can’t even get drunk, because Snape told me to come tomorrow.” Harry moaned hopelessly, as he took another sip from his glass, realizing that in no time it got empty.

“Finally something I can help you with.” Ron grinned, as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I have managed to smuggle some Anti-Hangover Potion from Fred and George’s shop.”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, smashing his arm. “You had broken at least four rules that way! Everything has its boundaries!”

“Come on, don’t spoil our fun, ‘Mione. We are over age, and it’s not Harry’s fault that this bastard had told him to come on Saturdays! I’m sure this is also against the rules, and do you see anyone who cares about that?” Ron looked at her with raised eyebrows, letting some of the frustration Harry felt himself color his voice. Hermione chewed on her lip for few seconds, before she shook her head, and waved her hand at them. She muttered something like “at least Mcgonagall wasn’t that cruel”, as she got up from her sit, and walked over to the table, taking a butterbeer bottle for herself.

“Do you think she approves?” Ron asked Harry, a sneaky smile on his face.

“I definitely hope so, because I’m planning to get embarrassingly drunk.” Harry grinned, and they clinked their glasses, deciding to pretend that tomorrow would never come.


	5. Chapter 5

What had woken Harry up wasn’t, unfortunately, his clock. He believed that he had set up the alarm at noon, but the characteristic sound was long forgotten as in his hangover state, he had sent it to the floor in order to silence it what, fortunately, did its job. And also made Harry fall asleep almost immediately after that. So if it wasn’t his clock, then what the hell was making those knocking sounds, which echoed in his head so loudly? He opened one of his eyes, and groaned when it met a sudden light, definitely too bright for his liking. He tried once again, this time with a better result, finally able to take in his dormitory. The knocking sounds wouldn’t stop, making his aching head even worse, if that was possible, so he decided to kill the creature which was making them. Very painfully.

“What the fuck?” Came a sleepy voice from the bed next to him, and he realized that he wasn’t the only one who had had a sleep-in. Well, it wasn’t really surprising, if they had finished their party right before six in the morning.

Dragging himself out of the bed, Harry shuffled over to the window, and let the impressive, black, and very angry owl fly into the room. She treated him with a cold glance (it already should have given him a hint to whom the owl belonged to, but Harry’s hangover didn’t allow him to pay attention), and brought out her leg, where a thin note was attached. The boy sighed with tiredness, and undid the parchment, barely noticing that the owl immediately flew out of the window.

“ _Potter,_

_I’ve decided that I do not want to waste all my Saturday on you, so instead of six thirty, I expect you at point two pm._

_S.S_ ”

A wave of panic swept through Harry, when he run in the direction of his bedside cabinet, only to realize that his clock was completely broken at his feet.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, and grabbed his wand, casting a check-hour spell. It was five to two.

“Ron! Give me this Anti-Hangover potion, I got to be at Snape’s in five minutes!” Harry was swearing heavily under his breath, in the same time throwing on himself whatever his hands managed to grab, in a horrible attempt to make it on time. Fortunately, Ron was already conscious enough to hand him a small bottle, which Harry drank in one gulp, running through the Common Room, where he ignored the curious looks he had received. The race through the castle made his heart almost jump out from his chest, and his breathing was so ragged, that he thought he had an asthma attack. He almost knocked himself out, when he had skidded around the corner and collided with the wall, and was really lucky that he didn’t break his ankle, when he had jumped from the fourth step on the stairs to the dungeons.

It was five after two, when he finally knocked at his professor’s door, trying to catch his breath. Only now did he appreciate all those hours spent on exercising, because otherwise it would take him twice as long to make it. The door opened immediately, and scowling Snape in them, what definitely wasn’t a good sign.

“Good afternoon, professor.” Harry greeted him, trying to make his voice less breathless than it actually was. “I’m really sorry I’m late, but I got your message ten minutes ago.” He said, biting his bottom lip with nervousness.

“I’ve sent it several hours ago, Potter. That’s no excuse.” Snape’s voice was cold, his lips twisted in an ugly way, but nevertheless he let the boy in. “I thought that I've made myself clear, that I will not let you waste my precious time, but...” he stopped abruptly, when he had turned around to face Harry. His gaze, firstly furious, changed to complete astonishment, only to come back to indifference in a blink of an eye. This wasn’t good, was it?

A stretched silence made Harry very nervous, when finally a sharp “Potter, can you tell me why are you wearing your shirt inside out? And why, on Merlin’s beard, do you have a “Golden Boy” written all over your forehead?” left Snape’s lips. Silence, which followed his words, was overwhelming. If Harry had ever been more embarrassed, than in this second, he definitely had troubles recalling it.

“It was… a bet, sir.” He finally managed to say, knowing that his face was probably the color of Ron’s hair by now.

“A bet?” Snape rose his eyebrows, skillfully hiding his amusement.

“Yes.” Deciding that the less he said, the better for him, Harry didn’t elaborate. “Could you tell me where the bathroom is, sir?” Harry looked straight into Snape’s eyes, hoping that his posture was far more confident than he actually felt himself. Snape clenched his jaw, and without a word showed him second door to his left, where Harry quickly disappeared, exhaling with relief when the doors had closed behind him. He was so fucked now! Snape probably thought he was totally crazy, and for sure didn’t believe in his tale about the bet. Which was true, actually. He was going to murder Dean and Neville, when only he got his hands anywhere near them. If he were going to have enough limbs left to do so, after this. Harry sighed heavily, and started to clean off his forehead, not believing that they had got so carried away yesterday. Definitely some murders were required, probably starting with suicide.

 ***

Snape sat behind his desk, waiting impatiently till the boy walks out of the bathroom. He had heard some rumors about partying Gryffindors last night, in the staff room, but he never expected it to be _that_ crazy. He shook his head in disgust. A bunch of irresponsible kids, that was what they were. He didn’t know why Minerva let them act this way, if they were under his care he would definitely show them a firm hand. If he had realized, that he was a little hypocritical, judging by his regular presence at London’s bars, he didn’t let it bother him. It was different with him. Most of his visits were business anyway, and if he had managed to make a virtue out of necessity, who was going to blame him?

After few minutes, the bathroom’s door finally opened, and a sheepishly looking Potter walked out of it.

“I apologize, sir.” He said, his voice, to Snape's discontent, still confident and even, even after such an embarrassment. “It will not happen again, I promise.”

“I would recommend not making promises, which you can’t keep, Mr. Potter.” Snape’s gaze didn’t lose any of its usual coldness, but there were traces of astonishment in his voice, which lately was the most common feeling he associated with this... young man.

“I do intend to keep this one.” Corners of Harry’s lips curled up unexpectedly, and Severus did his best to hide his surprise. Since when Potter was able to distinguish his sarcasm from affronts?

“If you’re quite finished with putting yourself together, shall we start finally?” He asked in a deadly tone, raising from his chair, and with a flick of his wand he made all the furniture to move under the wall. When he was done, he faced Harry, and wrinkling his forehead in focus, he spoke up:

“As you’ve already realized, this horrid burden of preparing you to face the Dark Lord came upon me, so my intention is to fulfill it. I believe, you’re prepared to do whatever it is necessary to accomplish this task, Potter.”

He could tell that the boy was listening carefully, and he certainly hoped that the real meaning behind those words would sank in. It was going to be a hard job to train the boy, make him ready to face whatever was out there, but someone had to do it, and he was never the one to pity himself, so he definitely wasn’t going to start now. There was a strong-minded determination written all over Potter’s face and posture, which could be also heard in his voice, when he answered:

“Whatever it takes, sir. I have accepted my fate long time ago.”

“As you should have done.” Severus nodded once. He was not going to praise the boy for something that, in the end, was his duty, no matter how merciless it was to put the hopes of both Wizarding and Muggle worlds on the seventeen years old boy’s shoulders. And how stupid.

“You will have to learn the dueling techniques which, I assure you, are much more complex than you have ever imagined, so I suggest you to put your whole mind into it. The Headmaster expressed his hopes that I will restrain myself from the Dark Arts, as he is worried about your soul, as he had put it himself. However, no matter how golden it might be, you will have to learn some basics in order to learn how to protect yourself from them.” Snape gritted his teeth, recalling the conversation he had had with Albus. This utter fool wanted to fight only with Lightness and Love, as if these ever helped anyone, and nothing what Severus had told him was able to change his mind. No one had ever been able to kill without scratches on theirs soul. And, as much as he disliked to admit it, he knew that Potter was through enough to handle some of it. He had been marked by darkness already, probably more than anyone of them realized.

“Sir, I know the Headmaster’s views on this topic. However, I’m willing to do whatever it takes, and I really mean _whatever_ , to defeat Voldemort.” Potter's voice was strong and serious, and Severus felt a little spark of respect inside his chest. That was not the same boy he knew, if he hadn't realized that before, he was sure of it now.

“We will also focus on Occlumency.” He said, not letting any of his thoughts influence the tone of his voice. A grimace went through Potter’s face, only to be replaced with indifference within seconds, however Snape could see the tension in his demeanor. “I hope that this time you will suppress yourself from looking into my memories." His voice was cutting as he turned around to fetch a Pensive from one of his drawers.

“Of course, sir. I've said it before, but I would like to apologize you once again. What I did, it was uncalled for, and I really am sorry." Severus was surprised by sincerity in Potter's voice, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw that the boy truly looked remorseful. He nodded his head shortly, acctepting the apology wordlessly, and turned back to the drawer. Maybe Potter really had grown up a bit.

"And if I may, could I also have a Pensive of my own?” 

This made Severus turn his head abruptly in surprise once again.

“And why would you need one, Mr. Potter?” He asked, rising his eyebrows.

The boy looked away, clenching his right hand into fist, and Severus knew that his nails had to dig in deeply in the palm of his hand. That was an interesting reaction. So he wasn't that calm and indifferent after all.

“I would feel much more comfortable, if I knew the memories I don’t want you to see were safe.” He said, his gaze again focused on Severus’. “Maybe I could actually focus then.” He tried a small smile, which didn't reach his eyes.

“You realize that studying Mind Arts is much more effective, if one knows that there are things he or she needs to protect?”

Potter nodded his head, however none of his desperation, or tension left his posture.

“Yes, however I have to insist.” He said simply, and maybe it was something in this intense eyes, the crawling darkness behind them, that persuaded Severus to bow down. Maybe he didn’t want to see what Potter had to hide. Or maybe he would wait for an appropriate moment to find out. He was a Slytherin after all.

“Very well, I will have it ready for you on our next meeting.”

Potter sighed with relief almost visibly, and finally the tension dropped, what only the most observant person would have noticed.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I also expect you to improve yourself in potions. In order to do so, I will provide you with some books, which aren’t present in our library, however I recommend you to pay attention to few of those too, no matter how boring it may seem to someone who doesn’t appreciate the delicate art-making of potions.” Snape sneered at him, predicting that this task would be even harder to accept than the Occlumency, but Potter only nodded. What was it with this boy lately, that he couldn’t exert any reaction from him? He had to try harder, in this case.

“Are we going to brew here, then?” The younger wizard asked, his face a slight shade of curiosity.

“Not before I decide that you have covered enough material, and are competent enough. By now, your skills are comparable to the third year’s, and I do not wish to have my rooms blown up.” Snape answered, putting as much contempt into his voice as he could master. And now, finally, there was this flicker of anger in Potter’s eyes that he was looking forward to see the whole afternoon. His cheeks turned red in embarrassment, and Snape felt how satisfaction fills him.

“Of course, sir.” He answered with gritted teeth.

“Now, bring out your wand, and let’s see what you’re capable of.” Snape scorned at the boy, rolling his sleeves up over his elbows, and taking a dueling position. Potter followed his steps. They were facing each other now, both focused on the other, looking for any sign of weakness, or loss of concetration, anything what would have helped to overpower the opponent. 

“ _Exuro!_ ” Severus exclaimed suddenly, pointing with his wand at the boy, but his fast “ _Fortis defendo_!” absorbed the spell. How did the boy know this spell? It wasn’t in the standard defensive books, usually read by students. He didn’t have time to think about it, however, as Potter’s “ _Seco corium_ ” flew his way. He blocked it effortless, but nevertheless it was unexpected. Did the boy actually train before? Another few, rather unexpected, curses were cast by Potter, and Severus let him to do so, to see how broad were his skills.

In the next few minutes, he found out that, yes, the younger wizard had had some extra reading, however it wasn’t too deep. There were no Dark spells, as he suspected that Potter was too afraid to try them on his own, however the fact that he had actually tried to prepare himself for a battle was admirable. What didn’t mean that he would let Potter win. It took him only a few well-timed spells, with enough force, to make Potter back up under the wall, and another few to defeat him completely, the boy's wand in Snape’s left hand, with no traces of tiredness. Which wasn’t the case for Potter, as he was breathing heavily, covered in sweat, and his shirt teared in few places. Snape took few steps in the boy’s direction, towering over him, and wondered if he should cast one more spell, only to make a point. He didn’t, however, only gave back the younger wizard’s wand to him and said:

“Again.”

They begun one more time, and if Severus had expected, that Potter would have grown weaker, he was disappointed. It not only took him longer than before to defeat him, but he had also noticed that the boy was trying to learn, and remember his techniques. The shields were cast faster, and with better efficacy than before, what showed Severus that at least in dueling the boy was learning fast.

After an hour of heavy dueling, Potter’s power started to wear off, finally. It was inevitable, as he wasn’t used to casting so many spells in such a short time, especially of this force. Snape noticed that Potter’s hand started to shake, the fact which made the boy irritated, as he tried to hide it, throwing himself into the duel with doubled force. It couldn’t last for too long however, and after few more minutes, the boy's “ _Fortis defendo”_ was far too slow to prevent Severus’ strong “ _Evolo_ ” to hit him right in the chest, and send him across the room, where his whole body bumped into the wall, only to fall motionlessly on the floor a second later. 

“Potter!” Severus dashed over to him, hoping that nothing serious had happened to him. Hatred aside, he didn’t really want to harm the boy permanently, did he?

“Ugh...” Came a groaned response, before the young wizard tried to sit up. “I’m all right.” He said, when he finally managed to get up on his shaky legs.

“Better sit, or you will disgrace my floor if you faint.” Severus answered, not showing even the slightless trace of relief, which he didn’t really feel. Seemed like Potter’s skull was tougher than it looked like. Harry did as he was told, wincing a little, when his left arm hit the back of the couch.

“I think, there’s something wrong with my shoulder." He kept on moving it for a few seconds, trying out different angles, his brows furrowed in focus. His teeth were gritted, as if he were trying to stop himself from groaning. “There’s definitely something wrong with my shoulder.” He muttered finally.

Severus, who was observing the young man very carefully, looking for any other injuries, walked over to him, saying:

“Let me see.”

When the younger wizard turned slightly, to give him a better access, he examined his shoulder blade, as well as the attached bones.

“Take off your shirt.” Severus said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “I need to see it more closely.”

“What?! No! I’d rather go to Madame Pomfrey.” Potter jerked away from him, wincing in pain, when a sudden move went through his arm.

“Potter, for Merlin’s sake! Don’t act like a child! I have all the potions you might need on hand, there’s no need to bother Pomfrey with such a trivial reason.” Snape hissed. “I imagine, that during our sessions you may end up injured more times than not, and if you plan to run to the Hospital Wing every time, I’d recommend you to think about it once again.”

Potter gritted his teeth, but sensing that his teacher had a point, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, he took off his shirt over his head.

Severus returned to his examination, trying very hard not to notice how well-build Potter really was. Of course, he had noticed that the day before already, but without his shirt, the boy was really a beautiful sight to look at, and this time there was no alcohol to blame.

His back muscles, as well as his arms, were a piece of art, flexing voluntary under his skilled fingers, his skin warm and soft. Firstly tensed, after few minutes Potter relaxed, distress present only in the way he was crumpling his folded shirt. His jaw clenched every time Severus had touched one of the bruised parts, however the man was impressed by his restraint. As if this injury was nothing in compare to others he might have had in the past. That was an interesting observation, and Severus decided to think about it later.

“I’m going to give you a Pain Reliever, and an ointment to get rid of the bruises, which you will, without a doubt, develop some time later. No bones are broken, but I think you’ve strained one of your ligaments.” Severus got up, proceeding to his cabinet, and after finding what he had needed, he turned back to the boy, who was sitting motionless on the couch. Still without a shirt.

If Severus thought, that Potter’s back was beautiful, he had to reconsider his definition of “beautiful”.

The boy filled out quite nicely during the holidays - or was it before? - his chest broad, and surprisingly muscular. His creamy skin was gleaming slightly, due to the sweat he had produced during their duel, and Severus couldn't help but imagine how it would have glowed on top of his silky, black covers, the young man deliciously spread across them, and Severus right over him...  
An unexpected wave of heat swept through him at the image, but he had managed to keep his face completely indifferent. Bless all those years of self-control. He had no idea where all those thoughts were coming from, since when was he lusting after student? He had never allowed himself to have that kind of thoughts before. 

“You can put your shirt on, now.” He said, hoping that he sounded as disinterested as he aimed to, and put three vials he had had in his hand on the coffee table.

“Oh, right.” Potter blushed, and quickly got into his shirt, which left his hair even messier than usually. Severus felt a tremendous urge to run his fingers through those black curls, but stopped himself sternly. He was slowly getting sick of himself.

“Thanks.” The boy said, and got up, putting the vials into his pocket.

“The third vial is for the strained ligament, if robbed in regularly, it should come back to normal state in two-three days.” Severus said, turning around, and putting all of his furniture back into place with a quick spell. “You’re dismissed.”

Potter nodded his head, and with a murmured “Good bye, sir,” left his office hurriedly.

Severus sighed heavily under his breath, sinking into his chair, suddenly very tired. He had to get a grip on his reactions, and thoughts in general. He was _not_ going to lust over his the most hatred student, no matter how handsome he might be. He was an adult for fuck’s sake, not to mention his principal. It wasn’t even lust probably. Just frustration. And not because of Potter’s appearance either, only that Severus hadn't had any occasion to have sex lately, and any young body would have triggered this reaction. Yes, that had to be it.

Seemed like the time to visit one of his favorite bars had just arrived.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spells which Harry and Snape used, freely translated from Latin which I made up (the spells not the Latin), don't mind me :
> 
> 1\. Exuro = to destroy, to devastate by fire  
> 2\. Fortis = strong, powerful; defendo = to defend, to guard, to protect; so together works as a very strong shielding charm of some kind  
> 3\. Seco = to slice, to chop, to cut up; corium = skin so together basicly = cut the skin  
> 4\. Evolo = to fly away, to fly up, to fly out


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay but I was super busy with studies and didn't have too much time to write. I hope that now, during my winter holidays, I will manage to work out the rest of the plot and write much much more. Wish me luck and your comments are so uplifting, thank you very much! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy x

Severus had wondered how long it would take for the Dark Lord to find out about the latest events in Hogwarts, but when he unfolded Sunday’s Daily Prophet with “ _The-Boy-Who-Lived matched with a Death Eater!_ ” headline in capital letters, the answer was pretty obvious. What a surprise they didn’t make it to the Saturday’s issue. He grimaced, and suddenly his buttered toast lost its appeal. At least it was a good thing, that he had had a habit of not leaving to the Great Hall for meals during weekends. He didn’t wish to see the disgusted faces of his students, hear the whispers, and definitely he did not want to receive any pity looks from Albus, and Minerva. As if they didn’t have problems of they own.

Abandoning his unfinished meal, he proceeded to his private laboratory, deciding that maybe brewing some potions would sweeten his waiting. Only between his beloved cauldrons, vials, and ingredients he was able to relax completely, and think clearly. Even the fumes didn’t bother him, no matter how foul they were.

It wasn’t until the corked vials of a Dreamless Potion, Pain Reliever, and Rush Disposal landed in his cabinet, he did feel the too well-known burning on his left arm. He had to greet his teeth to stop a painful moan from leaving his mouth.

Severus put out the fire under his cauldron, leaving the remains of the Rush Disposal in it, and left the laboratory in hurry. With a quick flick of his wand, he summoned his cloak, and a mask, not putting it on just yet, and left his quarters. It was almost curfew but, luckily, he didn’t meet any students on his way to the gates. Of course, there was nothing wrong with him leaving the castle, but he loathed seeing anybody right before his meetings. It was just a useless distraction, and he couldn’t afford any distractions at the moment.

At the apparition point, right outside the Hogwart's gates, he rolled up his left sleeve, and touched the mark with his wand. He forced himself to feel the burning need to meet his Master. It was the only way he could get to know the place of his staying. The sensations of apparition took all over him, and in no time at all he arrived at the location, his face, as well as his mind, completely blank, and under control.

The hall, where he appeared at, was emanating with dampness and coldness, which crept into his bones, making him shiver. How he hated this feeling, the impuissance of this whole situation, showing weakness, and complaisance. He didn’t let himself wonder - for a hundred time - why on earth he had ever felt like it was a good idea to join the Dark Lord in the first place.

“Severus, what a pleasant surprise.” Came a voice behind him. He turned around with a flutter, and confronted Lucius, his handsome facial lines arched in an ugly smirk.

“Lucius.” He greeted him in a cold voice, his eyes never leaving the blue ones. Oh, he could think of Lucius as handsome, and undeniably he was, but it didn’t make the man any less dangerous. And what was he even doing here? Outside the Azkaban?

“How nice of you to welcome me personally.” Snape sneered at him, his posture full of confidence. “Did dementors get bored of you?”

Lucius raised one of his eyebrows, an amused gleam present in his eyes for exactly a second, before he hid it skilfully.

“You could say that.” He answered smoothly.

It was silent for a few seconds, during which the men were eying each other up carefully. The tension was so thick, that you could have cut it even with a butter knife, but it did nothing to waver Severus’s confidence. He just stood there, gazing at Malfoy, some kind of challenge present in his eyes. Finally, Lucius took a few steps closer, his robes almost brushing Severus’s ones now.

“It’s good to see you, Severus.” He said with a low voice, which used to do wonder to Severus' body in the past. It was a voice full of dark promise, lust and hunger. “You know how I’ve always liked our meetings.”

“Well, you definitely let me _hear_ that.” Severus let the corner of his lips lift in a self-satisfied smile, but he didn’t come any closer. The affection, which he once felt, was fully replaced with disgust, and hatred now, no matter how good looking Lucius might be. And no matter how sinful his voice could be. “You didn’t answer my question.” Snape arched his eyebrow upwards, clearly expecting a response. A barely noticeable grimace passed Lucius’ features, quickly replaced by indifference.

“I fail to see how this is any of your business, but surely you didn’t expect me to stay _there_ while my son is in the hands of Dumbledore, did you?” Lucius said, fury present in his voice this time.

“If only that made you leave Azkaban, I wonder if you weren’t too much of a coward to come back earlier.” Severus answered, disdain dropping from his every word. Draco was his godson, and he suspected that he cared for the boy more than his own father.

“I couldn’t exactly _leave_ , could I?” Lucius gritted his teeth, his first trials of flirting long forgotten. “But our Lord had decided that in the light of the latest events, he must act quickly, and so the Dementors are no longer in the service of the Ministry. I guess you will read about it. In tomorrow’s Prophet.  He smirked, contentment written all over his face.

Severus also smiled with forced pleasure, and said:

“Our Lord is the most merciful then. Excuse me for now, I believe he is awaiting for me.”

Lucius regarded him slowly, something what didn’t quite suit Severus in his posture.

“Oh yes, he is. And he is not happy, believe me.” His eyes lightened with pleasure, as if the reason behind Voldemort’s discontent brought him the greatest pleasure.

“Let me be the judge of it, Lucius.” Snape answered, and taking a step forward, he leaned in to whisper in Malfoy’s ear. “Maybe I have a way to satisfy him as well.” He didn’t miss a little shudder, which went through other man’s body due to his words, and Snape felt like his own satisfaction fills him. It definitely felt good to know, that he still had some power over Malfoy.

Getting rid of those thoughts, Severus put his Death Eater cloak and mask on, before he entered a huge, round room with big, ornate columns going through the middle of the available space. Marble, was Severus' guess. Only a few lanterns were lighted, what made the room look dim and shadowy, but not in the comfortable, and cosy way at all. If Severus thought that the Hall was cold and damp, this… chamber was much worse.

Approaching the Dark Lord, who was siting on a brazen throne, as if he had already won the fucking war, he fell on his knees, and kissed the hem of his robes.

“My Lord.” He said, keeping his mind wards in check. “I have arrived at your summons.”

“Severus,” the hissing voice of Voldemort came to his ears. “I was wondering what took you so long to come to me.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, my Lord.” Severus answered, still on his knees, even though he exactly did know what the Dark Lord meant.

“The unexpected news came to me today, Severus. News, which I would have rather expected to hear from you, as they concern the place of your work.” Voldemort rose from his throne, shoving away Severus’s hand from his robes, as he took a few steps to stand right behind him. Severus remained on his knees, however the Dark Lord’s presence caused an involuntary shiver to run through his body. He gritted his teeth, ordering himself to stay calm.

“I can explain that, My Lord.” He answered, not daring to turn his head.

“Explain? Yes, Severus I can hardly wait to hear your explanations. One could think, that you have concealed this information on purpose.” Voldemort’s voice was full of fake astonishment.

“I was bound with the Unbreakable Vow, My Lord.” Severus said, lifting his shields up a little bit, and putting the memory of Dumbledore casting the Unbreakable Vow on the whole teaching staff at the front for an easy access. After few seconds, filled with silence during which Voldemort was going through the memory, he spoke again, his voice ten shades colder than before.

“What does not explain, why you hadn't reported to me that you have been matched with Potter, out of everyone, Severus.”

“If I had left the castle the same night, Dumbledore would have known, My Lord. I didn’t want to risk my delicate position knowing that sooner or later the news would rich you.”

“You could have come the next day or even today, Severus. I was waiting, but my patience came to the end finally.”

Severus shuddered when the hissed words echoed in the room, and he closed his eyes, awaiting for the hex. He could have come, of course. But he didn’t want to give the weapon to Voldemort’s hands himself, no matter how much he was going to pay for that now.

“Did you soften toward this boy, Severus?” A deadly whisper came to his ears, and he shook his head rapidly.

“I hate him with every part of my heart and soul, My Lord." He answered, putting as much hatred and venom as he was able to, what came more naturally than he wanted to admit.

“Then why didn’t you come to me, I'm asking for the last time, and better make the answer convincing.” The Dark Lord never raised his voice while interrogating his followers, as his quiet, cold voice, was much more efficient, and frightening than any scream would have been, Severus was realizing that every time he was the receiver of this tone.

“I...” he didn't finish, as the swish of Voldemort’s wand cut through the air, and he was hit with a _Crucio_ in no time at all. The pain was devastating, and Severus didn’t even notice when he hit the floor, his robes a black mess beneath him. No moan of pain left his mouth however, when he gritted his teeth painfully, trying to save some of his pride.

“You what, Severus? Please enlighten me, because I come to find your excuses tiring, at last.”

When the curse finished, Snape was breathing heavily, and he could feel the unmistakable rusty taste of blood in his mouth. He had had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming.

“I didn’t wish to disappoint you, My Lord. I had to find out what this matching meant, for Dumbledore, before I came to you. I wanted to have all the information on hand, in case you needed it. That’s why my arrival was so delayed.” He realized it didn’t sound as convincing as he hoped it would, but it was his only chance. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. At the end, he had to see Potter’s abilities as they were for now, and he had to discuss the matter with Dumbledore.

“And what are those?”

Severus took a deep breath, and stood up, facing the Dark Lord. He didn’t really know how he managed to stop the trembling of his body, must be the practice from all those Crucios.

“I am to train Potter, as it’s Dumbledore’s wish. I can assure you, My Lord, that the boy is completely defenseless now. He stands no chance in fight with you.”

“Train him, you say? So Dumbledore really thinks that he can make a weapon out of him? From such a weak boy? Interesting. Why isn’t he training him himself then? Why bother with this whole “choosing”?” Voldemort sit on his throne again, his robes a pile beneath his bare feet. Severus wondered for a second, if the Dark Lord wasn’t ever cold, but then he focused again.

“He told me that the choosing was necessary for reasons he didn’t wish to share with me. I suspect, he simply wanted to let the public know that they are preparing for a war, and that he wanted to scare you, My Lord.”

A cold laugh resonated all over the room, and Severus felt like every little hair on his body stands up.

“Scare me? I always thought that Dumbledore was an utter fool, but now he became an old idiot. How the bunch of kids is supposed to scare me?” If Severus thought it was possible, he could have sweared that Voldemort chuckled.

“They can’t, My Lord. However, I wouldn’t underestimate Potter. He exhibits some skills, even if he’s completely untrained.”

“I’m not underestimating him, Severus.” Voldemort hissed, his red eyes lightened with anger. “I do remember about the prophecy, I assure you.”

It was silent for a few minutes, the only sound the Dark Lord’s fingernails tapping against the arm of his throne, during which he seemed to be deep in thought.

“You will train him, Severus.” Voldemort spoke up finally, caressing his chin with a thoughtful manner. “You will maintain your position as a spy this way, and I want you to report to me regularly. You will gain his trust, and find out his the weakest point, this way or another, I don’t really care." He emphasized on the last word. “And I don’t mean his friends, I already know that they are his weakness. I mean, something that no one knows about, something that I could use in the final minute to break him. When you find out what it is, you will bring him to me.” Voldemort looked directly into his eyes, the red gaze intense and full of anticipation.

Severus bent his head, his jaw clenched. He was suspecting something of this kind.

“Of course, My Lord. I will not let you down.” He answered, his eyes remaining on the floor.

“I do hope so, Severus, because if you will...” he hung his voice, the unspoken threat clearly present in the air.

“I won’t.” Severus fell onto his knee, and taking the hem of Voldemort’s robes again, he kissed it.

“Leave.” was the last word he heard, before he got up, and bowing once again, he turned around on his heel, and marched out from the chamber.

***

Harry took a deep breath, before he knocked at the door, trying to calm his nerves. He didn’t think it would be ever possible for him to relax, or at least stay calm for longer than ten seconds, around his Professor, but he had to try. When he finally stopped dragging away the impossible, his Professor’s stern “enter” reached his ears. Harry took a step into the room, closing the door behind him, and faced his tutor.

“Good evening, Professor.” He said, leaving his bag next to the brown-leather sofa.

“Mr. Potter.” Snape nodded in his direction, not getting up from his desk, going through some papers. He probably didn't finish grading the essays, before Harry’s coming.

The thought of sitting on the sofa crossed Harry’s mind, but after taking one look at Snape, he thought better of it. He would rather not risk making him angry, or whatever Snape would have felt after such a brave action. Harry couldn’t help himself, and smirked imaging the possible outcome of his straightforwardness.

“Maybe you will tell me what is so amusing, Potter?” Snape’s scolding words quickly made Harry serious again, and he simply shook his head.

“Nothing, sir.”

His professor clenched his jaw, and carefully pushing away the stock of student’s works on the edge of the desk, he raised gracefully.

“Sit, Potter. We have to discuss few things first.” He said, and Harry did as he was told, thinking that his previous hesitation wasn’t that unfounded. Snape walked over to the armchair, and lowered himself on it. “Tea?” He asked in a neutral tone.

The younger man didn’t say anything at first, feeling nervousness twisting his stomach. This was weird. Snape being almost polite, offering him tea? Did he hit himself in the head or something? When his professor raised one of his eyebrows at him, he answered quickly:

“Yes, please.”

Two cups of tea, along with sugar and milk, appeared on a coffee-table after Snape had tapped at it with his wand. Harry reached for his cup, and putting two spoonfuls of sugar inside, he took it into his hands. After noticing an asking gaze of his professor, he muttered:

“I like it sweet, all right?”

Snape only shook his head, and after adding some milk into his cup, he spoke up, his voice deprived of any emotions:

“The Dark Lord wants me to bring you to him.”

Harry choked on his tea, almost spitting the contents of his mouth all over himself.

“What?!” He exclaimed, suddenly realizing that drinking tea while hearing such revelations wasn’t too smart, that’s why he hurriedly put the cup back on the table, with a loud thud.

Snape scowled, but Harry wasn’t sure if it was at his manners, his tone, or generally at his existence.

“I don’t wish to repeat myself.” He answered, sipping his tea calmly, his face completely blank.

“But you’re not going to do this, right?” Harry jumped up from the sofa abruptly, nervousness dripping from his every move, when he reached for his wand immediately, being naive enough to think that he stood some chances against his professor.

“Of course not, you idiot!” Snape snapped, gritting his teeth. “Sit. Down.” He emphasized on each of the words separately, irritation written all over his wrinkled forehead.

Harry hesitated for a second, but when Snape almost ordered him to do so with the move of his incisive eyes, he gave up, and sunk on the sofa again.

“Why not?” Harry asked, furrowing his brows. “If you don’t, he will kill you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt he will." His professor sneered, taking another sip from his cup.

“I don’t understand.” Harry admitted slowly, gazing up at him. Snape rolled his eyes and said, his voice full of disdain.

“Of course you don’t. When have you ever understood anything? I’m surprised you even comprehend the words which are said to you. It must be after your father.”

It was Harry’s time to grit his teeth and barely thinking, he answered:

“Well, I’m sorry to think you value your life over mine, you know. That’s really so unthinkable, that I don’t know how to express my apologies. And keep my father out of it.”

If Harry had thought, that Snape’s mouth twitched, he had to be delusional, because the man couldn’t possibly think, that what he had said was funny, could he? Because Harry wasn’t trying to be funny, he was angry and, if anything, scared what he was trying to hide under his ferocity. At the end, he didn’t know Snape at all, he wasn’t sure about his true allegiance, and definitely there was no way for him to tell what Snape might or might not do. The man was a complete riddle to Harry, and his closed facial expression wouldn’t give away anything, not even a glimpse of what he might be planning, or thinking about.

“Would you please care to explain?” He hissed finally, trying not to lose his temper.

“I would, if you watched your manners, Potter.” Snape answered, his tone still neutral. Harry wanted to scream in frustration. because how was it possible that the man could be so calm, while that were their lives, that they were talking about?

“Would you please care to explain, _sir_?” He repeated through gritted teeth. After the choosing, he promised to himself that he would do his best to control his emotions, but with Snape acting like that, it was getting incredibly difficult.

“I  had expected it.” Snape answered eventually, his onyx eyes focused on Harry’s, his gaze impenetrable, and before Harry could have interrupted him, he continued:

“The moment the news reached the Dark Lord, it was obvious, that he would have liked to use it to his advantage. Thinking that I’m on his side, the only thing he would have to do, was to tell me to bring you to him. But the Dark Lord isn’t stupid. He knew it wouldn’t be possible immediately, not before Dumbledore, and you, trust me and believe that I do not wish you any harm throughout this… commitment.” Snape’s voice was matter-of-fact, as if he was talking about the weather, rather than the operations of the war. And it was that confidence, that sturdy conviction, that Harry would just submit to whatever plan the “adults” had prepared, and full fill it without looking back, no matter how much it would cost him, infuriated him more than the plan itself. Which wasn’t too clear to him yet, but he didn’t care about that now. He was sure he wouldn’t like it either way.

“I will _never_ trust you.” Harry almost spitted, before he could stop himself, anger flowing through his veins. Snape regarded him slowly, his jaw clenched, and his eyes bored into Harry’s, first traces of annoyance finally present there.

“I couldn’t care less about your trust, Potter.” He answered, his voice cold. “But I care about my life, as you’ve been so polite to point out, that’s why you have to practice the Occlumency, because I can’t afford the Dark Lord to see in your mind that, firstly, you know about all of this, and secondly, that you’re not going through with it. It’s not only your life at stake.” Snape’s eyes were almost thunderous now, and Harry felt like someone had poured bowling water into his veins. He sprang up to his feet, clenching his hands into fists, and hissed:

“It has _never_ been only my life at stake, Snape. I’m well aware of that, and you don’t need to throw it into my face.”

“Maybe I do, because I do not wish to end up like Black.” Snape answered in a deadly tone, also standing up, his body leaned a little forward, as if he was preparing for an attack.

Harry fell silent, too stunned to say anything, his jaw so clutched it hurt. Did Snape really say what he thought he said? It wasn’t possible, what kind of man could be that cruel?

Snape kind, apparently. Who was now looking at him fiercely, no trace of remorse in his eyes. Without a thought, Harry just grabbed his bag, and did the only thing which would stop him from doing something unforgivable to his professor. He turned on his heel, and stormed out from the office.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry was in the middle of the corridor, heading to the Room of Requirement, when someone’s voice broke through his anger-clouded mind, making him turn around on his heel.

“Harry! I’ve been calling you a thousand times!” Gasped a very breathless Neville, who seemed to chase him for a while now.

Harry tried to relax his tensed with exasperation jaw, and said, making his voice sound normal, and not as if he was just thinking about fifty different ways to murder Snape. Every one of them more painful than the other. “I’m sorry, I got lost in thought. What’s up, Neville?”

“Dumbledore wants to see you. He’s tried to reach you through Snape, but apparently you had left already, so he sent me to fetch you.” Neville answered, brushing his hand through his blond hair.

“I thought you were matched with Sprout?” Harry asked, a little confused.

“Well, yeah, but I got summoned too, so I’ve volunteered to do this, as Malfoy would never fall that low, and look for you.” Neville rolled his eyes, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Too true. He would rather jump from the Astronomy Tower, I guess.”

“Or try to hug a Blast-Ended Skrewt.” Neville sent him a knowing smile, as they’ve started to walk toward Dumbledore’s office, his eyes brightened with humor.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Harry asked, hoping that whatever the headmaster wanted, it wouldn’t take too much time, as he was still up to taking some of his anger out on is equipment. The mere thought of his confrontation with Snape was making his blood boil once again.

“I’m not sure, but it probably has something to do with all this tutoring thing.” Neville answered, shrugging his arms.

“So everyone got summoned?”

“I only know about you, me, and Malfoy of course. Though, I have to admit, his presence in all of this is pretty surprising. Even if it might turn out useful.”

“Yeah, well, for me almost everything about this is surprising.” Harry murmured under his breath, sighing. He didn’t like how pathetic it sounded, but screw it. He had enough on his plate already to worry about it.

“Being matched with Snape? That had to be a hell of surprise. I’d be variably depressed, and furious for like a month, or something. I don’t know how you've managed to cope with it so well.” Neville sent him a look full of admiration, and Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

“I didn’t, just good at pretending. I’m crying myself to sleep every night.”

Neville burst out laughing, and Harry, looking at him from the corner of his eye, thought that his house mate would definitely break at least few hearts in the upcoming years. The change in the young man was really incredible, as even his laugh lost this boy-like sound, and was more of a deep, throaty kind. If Harry was attracted to him, he could go as far as calling it sexy.

They reached the Gargoyle, and after Neville had given it a password, they climbed up the stairs, walking into the Dumbledore’s office which was already full of people. Harry noticed with relief, that except the Headmaster himself, Malfoy and Sprout, Hermione was there too, accompanied by Mcgonagall. What meant that… yes. In the opposite corner stood Snape, his posture as intimidating as ever, his arms folded over his chest, hardly sparing Harry even a glance. The boy’s fists clenched involuntarily, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself, what earned him a worried look from Hermione. He just shook his head, and turned to Dumbledore, asking:

“Headmaster? Neville told me you required my presence?”

“Oh yes, my dear boy. As everyone has arrived already, we shall proceed then.” The older man’s eyes sparkled behind his half-moon spectacles, as he waved his wand, and six, comfortably looking, brown-leather chairs gathered around his desk, and Harry walked over to one of these, sitting between Neville and Hermione.

“I’ve asked you all here, to discuss further the undertaking we've all happened to be involved in.” Dumbledore started with a smooth voice, twiddling with his thumbs.

“Sir, then why isn’t everyone here?” Harry interrupted him, wrinkling his forehead in surprise.

“Potter,” came a cutting response from his left. “If you didn’t interrupt, maybe you would have gotten the answer.”

“I didn’t ask _you_ , sir.” Harry answered with a cold voice, not bothering to look away from the Headmaster, and he could almost hear how Snape’s teeth gnashed.

“There’s a reason behind that, Harry.” Dumbledore said, a sympathetic smile never leaving his lips. “What we are about to discuss here, is of a very discreet matter. I didn’t think it would be wise, to share the details with other participants, as there’s no need for that at this point. The less people know about it, the better. That’s why I have to insist that you cannot share anything about today’s meeting with anyone, other than people present here.” Dumbledore’s voice turned stern, and his eyes hardened, when he was carefully regarding everyone, but a blink of an eye later it was all gone, and only the usual kindness was present in them again. “As you have probably guessed, it involves the war, and Voldemort.”

Everyone except Harry and Snape shuddered at the spoken name, but the younger man focused on the other part of Dumbledore’s speech.

“Then what is Malfoy doing here?” He asked, pointing with his head at the blonde, who was sitting right next to Snape, the semicircle making him sit almost opposite to Harry.

“Mr. Malfoy is tutored by me, and his presence is crucial, just like every other person here.” Dumbledore said calmly. “When you were chosen by the Sorting Hat, to take part in this project, you’ve signed the magical contract, of some kind. This contract requires, that you have to keep everything that involves this commitment in secrecy, from third party, as long as the majority doesn’t decide otherwise. It means, that if we were about to discuss anything involving this commitment, Mr. Malfoy couldn’t share it with anyone.” Dumbledore explained coolly, the warm smile never leaving his lips, ignoring the shocked gasps of everyone but, of course, Snape. Seemed like nothing could be hidden from this man.

“But...” Harry stopped suddenly, totally confused. “What happens when someone breaks this rule?”

Dumbledore sighed under his breath, wrinkling his head in focus.

“I’m not sure, actually. However, I can assure you, it wouldn’t be pleasant. It’s my recommendation, not to break it, my dear boy.”

“And didn’t you think it was important enough to share this “detail” with others?!” Harry raised his voice, not being able to understand Dumbledore’s actions.

“Oh, they know about it. I’ve met with them yesterday, and explained everything. There’s no need to worry about that, Harry.” The Headmaster smiled reassuringly to the younger wizard, and the boy shook his head in resign. Those games played by the surrounding him adults were wearing him out.

“Still, it doesn’t explain how it’s safe to talk about the _plan_ to win this war with Malfoy and, don’t mind me, Snape, while both of them are involved with Voldemort. The contract considers only tutoring, and will not prevent them from revealing our actions to him, as it's in my understanding.” Harry said, glancing briefly at both men in speech, and returning his eyes to Dumbledore’s.

“I trust Severus with my life, Harry, and you well know this. And as for Mr. Malfoy...” Dumbledore turned slightly into his direction, his brows furrowed. “I can’t speak for him. However, I believe that he understands the importance of this situation.” He bowed his head slightly, considering the blond man with focus and, as Harry believed, misplaced trust.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, only nodded his head once, what did nothing to convince the young man that all of this wasn’t a big mistake.

“For Merlin's sake! He sure as hell showed his views on this topic countless times, during the past years. I can’t believe a week of this engagement has changed it, headmaster!” Harry growled with frustration, shaking his head. And they call him irresponsible? How to name this, then? If they had decided to share with Malfoy, out of all people, the details of their plan how to kill Voldemort, then how was he supposed to react? Agree to this blindly?

“Mr. Potter! Language!” Exclaimed Mcgonagall with indignation but she was drowned out by Malfoy who, finally, decided to speak up.

“And you _as hell_ know everything about my views, don’t you, Potter?” Malfoy sneered at him, his blue eyes glowing with annoyance. “You don’t have the slightest idea about them, so why don’t you shut up, and we will be able to move forward?”

“Well, Malfoy,” Harry hissed, feeling like the not-so-forgotten anger starts to flow through his veins once again, with full force. “Why don’t you enlighten us then? At the end, it’s not _your_ father who serves the Voldemort, and kisses his nasty feet, and who had tried to kill me more than once, right?” Harry stood up abruptly, breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, barely noticing that Malfoy did the same, his fingers gripping his wound painfully.

“My father is at least still alive, and what about yours? He bit the dust years ago. I guess, he was too much of a coward to face the Dark Lord properly, wasn’t he? Left your slutty mother to die, which she did, doing us all a favor!” Malfoy spitted, his normally pale face reddened with rage, and his eyes thunderous, what made him look almost inhuman.

“That’s enough!” Roared Dumbledore, raising from the chair, his posture authoritative, and adamant. The twinkling was long gone from his blue, piercing eyes, and it was then, that Harry realized why so many people feared him. However, he was far too gone in his anger, to buckle under this hard, and disapproving look.

He felt like something dangerous and alien rises inside of him, spreads through his body with every beat of his raced heart, making him clutch his hands into fists, and sink his nails painfully inside of his palms, to keep control over it. He felt, as if it was pure fire filling him inside out, and he knew, that he had to get out of the room before he explodes. Literally.

“I hope your parents have more luck, and won’t share the same fate, Malfoy.” He clutched his jaw achingly, and turned around on his heel, storming, for the second time this day, out of someone’s office.

Harry had barely passed the Gargoyle on his way out, when his shoulder was gripped painfully, and he was shoved against the wall with a thump.

“What was _that_ , Potter?” Snape hissed into his face, putting his hands against the wall, on every side of Harry’s head, which was spinning from the sudden movement. The proximity took him by surprise, and he shivered, not entirely sure if it was due to the closeness itself, or rage still sweeping through his body.

“I will tell you what that was, professor.” Harry raised his hands, and placing them on Snape’s chest, he pushed him away forcefully, what made the surprised man stumble. “That was Dumbledore willing to tell Malfoy about our plans, and putting us all in danger! Did he hit himself in the head or something? That’s crazy! In no time at all, Malfoy will run to Voldemort, and tell him everything! What will we do then? Wait until he shows up, and kills us all?” Harry growled with irritation, his cheeks flushed, and lips pursed together.

“Did you really think, that Albus would let something like that happen?” Snape hissed, his voice full of venom and disdain.“You are an idiot Potter. Even bigger one, than I had previously thought.” The older man shook his head in disbelief, his black eyes scornful.

“What was I supposed to think after what he had said? You heard him! He thinks that Malfoy is on our side!”

“He thinks no such thing, you nitwit! He’s trying to make Draco see what it’s like to be on our side, and on the Dark Lord’s! Here he can actually make his own choice, but if he were to join the Death Eaters, there would be no way out! He would either follow the orders or die, and he’s a Malfoy for Merlin sake! Even the war is business to him.” Snape growled with exasperation, eying Harry up, as if he really thought that the young man was the biggest idiot ever. And that was what he propably really did think.

Harry’s shoulders slumped, when he finally decided to consider this theory, and he had to admit that his professor was making at least a little bit of sense. His recent fury evaporated from him somehow, and everything he was left with, was guilty conscience. He shouldn’t have acted the way he did in the Dumbledore’s office, he should have controlled himself better. The memory of his previous rage, the feeling of this hot lava spreading through his body, and reaching his every cell, was almost scary. He had never felt this way, not even when… He turned around abruptly, away from Snape, and said with gritted teeth:

“Malfoy shouldn’t have said all those things about my parents. I won’t let him dishonor their memory like that.”

He more felt than saw, from the corner of his eye, how Snape comes closer to him, and he couldn’t help but tense at the proximity. The sharp scent of potions ingredients, herbs and, surprisingly, dark chocolate, wrapped him up, and Harry felt how his heart speeds up. He wasn’t sure why. At the end, he was more or less confident, that his professor wouldn’t attack him from behind. There was nothing to be afraid of, because he really did hope it was fear, that he was feeling, and not something completely different. It’s probably all this adrenaline taking its tool, Harry thought to himself, shaking his head internally.

“You’ve provoked him, Mr. Potter.” Snape said, his voice rough, and strained, as if today’s events also drained his energy away. His breath lingered on Harry’s naked neck, and he unconsciously tilted his head slightly to the left, exposing it even more. However, Severus did notice it, and the compelling urge to lay his lips in the crook of this creamy, and soft skin took all over him. He had to bite the inside of his cheek, to force himself to focus once again, and only when he felt the unmistakable rusty, salty taste of blood, he was able to take a step back. “Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.” With these words, he turned on his heel, and marched away, leaving Harry alone in the corridor.

The boy sighed heavily, trying to shrug off the odd feeling, which emerged inside of him, and headed back into the Dumbledore’s office. He might have not liked the headmaster’s methods, but what Snape had said actually did make sense, and no matter how much he didn’t like Malfoy, the war was far more important than their differences. He knocked at the door lightly, and when he heard an invitation to enter, he braced himself, and came inside.

Everyone except Snape was still there, and from the look on their faces, the conversation which was taking place was rather heated. A few strands from Mcgonagall’s always perfect bun were pulled out, and his teacher looked like she wanted to suffocate Malfoy with her bare hands. The blond boy was sitting nonchalantly, only a spare chair separating them, his arms folded across his chest, and he didn’t seem to care about anything that she was telling him. Hermione looked at Harry with sympathy, and only then Harry realized, that his professor was chewing Malfoy over for what had said. Neville looked like he would much rather be everywhere but here, and the boy couldn’t really blame him. Welcome to the drama which was his damn life.

“Headmaster.” Harry directed him, persistence present in his voice. “May I speak with Malfoy in private, please?”

Headmaster regarded him carefully, his blue eyes sparkling all over again, as if he could read in Harry’s mind. And maybe he really did, who knew what this man was capable of.

“Of course, of course. We will leave you to it then.” He rose up gracefully, his long robes dragging on behind him. “I think we should call it a night for today. I believe, we all had had enough excitement for one day.” Dumbledore smiled kindly, and gestured for the remaining people to leave before him. When professor Sprout left the office, he turned slightly, and said, his voice hardening:

“I’m afraid Harry, that I have to take ten points from Gryffindor due to your previous behavior. Mr. Malfoy had already lost his share.”

Harry nodded, letting the headmaster know that he had accepted his decision, because right now he couldn’t care less about some points. Not when there were lives at stake, instead of some bloody points.

When the door closed behind the Headmaster, the tensed silence fell all over the room. The young men were regarding each other carefully, Malfoy’s face not losing any of its arrogance, and Harry’s full of determination. Finally, when the gryffindor couldn’t stand it any longer, he walked over to one of the chairs, and sank on it.

“Look, Malfoy.” He said, sighing heavily, and sweeping his hand through his jet-black hair. “I don’t like you, all right? And you don’t like me either. But if working with you is necessary for me to defeat Voldemort, no matter how I feel about it, I’ll try to do my best, and cooperate, okay? Still, it doesn’t mean that I trust you, because you can be sure that I don’t, but...” Harry shrugged his arms. “Dumbledore seems to, so I will just trust this old loony, and go with it.”

Malfoy’s lips curved up a little, hearing the way Harry referred the Headmaster, but his eyes didn’t lose any of their previous skepticism. He seemed to select his words very carefully, before he said:

“I’m not stupid, Potter. Maybe a few years ago you didn’t stand any chance against You-Know-Who, but now, that Dumbledore has some kind of plan, and with Severus training you, I realize that… my father’s choices weren’t the wisest. I do care about my life, and about my family, much more than about mudblood’s rights.”

Harry gritted his teeth at the offensive word, but decided to ignore it, as his reasonable part concluded it wasn’t worth another fight. He did appreciate Draco’s honesty though.

“It can’t be easy to go against everything your family had taught you through out the years.” Harry said hesitantly, truly believing that it wasn’t a trace of respect that appeared in his eyes. But Draco shook his head, his smile lopsided.

“I’m not. My family, Potter, believes in survival, loyalty. And power. I’m doing exactly, that every true Malfoy would do. Before you ask,” he continued, seeing how Harry opens up his mouth. “My father made his choice basing on the same principles, only now the odds has changed, and he didn’t foresee this happening. Something, that Severus did, and I trust his choices. Probably more than my own father’s now.” Draco shrugged his arms, and Harry couldn’t fail to notice, how warmly he spoke of their professor. Were they close or something? The thought made him irritated somehow, but he didn’t know why, so he brushed it away quickly, focusing on Malfoy once again.

“So you’re loyal to Snape?” He asked curiously, rising his eyebrows.

Malfoy sighed, trying to hide his irritation, probably caused by Harry’s ignorance in regard to old, pure blood families, and their priorities.

“I’m loyal to my family, Potter. All of it. And Severus is family so…” he hung his voice, shrugging.

“So that’s why Dumbledore had decided to let you in on all of this. He knew you wouldn’t give anything out, because it would put Snape in danger.” Harry snorted in disbelief, shaking his head.

How difficult was it, to simply enlighten him? How was he supposed to know all of this? He was raised by muggles, who wouldn’t have even told him that he was a wizard, if that had been up to them! They treated him like a freak, for his whole life, did terrible things to him, and all of the sudden the magical world expected him to know everything about the politics going on in there! He would get angry all over again, if the exhaustion let him. But it didn’t, so he just run his hand across his face, sighing heavily. He knew Malfoy was observing him carefully, but he couldn’t care less for a moment. Finally, the slytherin answered, not commenting on Harry’s discomposure.

“I guess, that was one of the reasons. I suspected he wasn’t as faithful to the Dark Lord, as he let everyone believe, but until now I wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, I couldn’t ever betray him like that. So his secret it safe with me, just like the whole “package”, as it involves Severus in one way or the other.”

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Harry, and he furrowed his brows in contemplation, not understanding something.

“But what about your father then? Isn’t it putting him in danger, if you decide to join our side? Isn’t it betraying him?” He asked, his voice neutral, as he put extra care not to put any judgment in there. He really wanted to know the answer, and didn’t need the boy to seize with pride.

It was Malfoy’s turn to sigh heavily as he analyzed Harry’s question, gazing out of the window.

“It is.” He finally admitted, after few long seconds, during which he seemed to be deep in thought. He didn’t look back at Harry though, and the boy suspected it was very hard for him to voice those two words, his pride nevertheless getting in the way. “However, as I’ve mentioned, Malfoys also crave power, no matter how… heartless it may seem to someone like you.” Draco’s eyes met his for a second, something difficult to define present in them, only to come back to gazing out of the window again. “Sometimes you have to choose the lesser evil.”

Harry wrinkled his forehead, trying to make sense out of the blond boy’s words. He couldn’t see any power coming to the slytherin, after joining their side, maybe except Dumbledore’s knowledge, but wasn’t Voldemort offering the same? Maybe in a different form, but it was power nevertheless.

“Wouldn’t you gain more of it by Voldemort’s side?” He asked finally, and saw how Malfoy’s lips twitched in a sneer.

“Careful, Potter. One could think you’re trying to persuade me to change my mind.”

Harry shook his head, a little embarrassed, realizing that it could really seem like that. “I’m not. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Voldemort isn’t offering any power. It’s just an illusion to lure people to follow him. What kind of power my father has? To decide whether this, or that muggle will live?” Malfoy snorted with disdain, shaking his head. “I’m not interested in that kind of power. It can be as easily given, as taken away. I want real power, I want to make a change, Potter.” His voice was suddenly heated, as his cheeks flushed a little, with barely withheld emotions. “And you can give me that power.”

Harry opened his mouth in shock, and blinked few times, trying to get control over his confusion. Malfoy’s behavior was beyond weird, and Harry only now realized how much of strangers they really were. He didn’t know anything about Malfoy, maybe except how proud he was, and how much he cared about his hair, and still they have been attending the same school for over six years. True, they were enemies, but it didn’t change, that they shared almost every class!

“Me?” He asked finally, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t have anything to offer you. My job is to get rid of Voldemort. Once it’s done, I plan to have a very peaceful, and quiet life.”

Malfoy laughed, surprising Harry how different it sounded, when it was actually honest, and not shadowed by malice.

“Do you really believe, that they will let you have an undisturbed, and private life, Potter? I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t realize the expanse of it.” Draco sneered at him, and for the first time ever Harry let the insult go, realizing that Malfoy didn’t really mean it.

“Whatever, I will worry about that when the time comes. I don’t even know if I survive long enough to find out. Answer my question.”

Draco exhaled heavily, and Harry saw the first trace of tiredness on his face. He wasn’t surprised, it seemed as if they were talking for ages. Finally, the blond regarded him slowly, and said:

“There is something inside of you, Potter. Something, that makes everyone all jumpy. Dumbledore walks on eggshells around you, the Dark Lord tried to kill you dozens of times, and yet he didn’t success, even the Ministry thinks, that you’re some kind of the Golden Boy. Do you really think, that all of this is a coincidence? I don’t know what you’re hiding, maybe you don’t even know yourself, but it is there, and I would rather find out about it while being on your side, than facing you as your enemy.”

The astonished silence fell all over the room, and Harry thought, for a second, that he was dreaming, or what seemed to suit better, hallucinating. Because what Malfoy had said couldn’t happen in reality, could it? It was almost as if he respected Harry or… feared him.

Harry stared at Malfoy for a few long seconds, shock written all over his face, and he couldn’t cough up a single word. Did he refer to the Prophecy? Did Malfoy even know about the Prophecy? And if he did, did he mean it, or maybe something completely different? Harry had no idea, and Malfoy’s face didn’t let him answer any of those questions.

“Close your mouth, Potter, you’re almost dribbling.” Malfoy sneered at him, and Harry listened, too stunned to do anything else. Finally, he got his voice back, and managed to gasp:

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy. I think, you’ve gone completely mad, and I wonder why it took me so long to figure that out.”

Malfoy chuckled, and raised from his chair, stretching out.

“Believe what you want to believe, I couldn’t care less, really. And I’m way too tired to continue our little chit-chat any longer.” He said, fighting a yawn.

Harry also got up, picking up his bag which was lying long forgotten on the floor.

“I can’t believe we just had a mature conversation. And were almost civil through out it.” He smiled incredulously, eying the boy as if he had actually seen him for the first time.

“Don’t get used to it, Potter.” Malfoy returned the smile, rolling his eyes. “I still detest you.”

Harry’s lips curved up almost involuntary, and he was surprised how easily it came to him.

“Copy that. See you around Malfoy.” With those words he turned around, and was about to leave the office, when Draco stopped him, saying:

“Hey, Potter.”

Harry turned back slightly, raising his eyebrow at him, in a silent question.

“I don’t really think your father was a coward. Or your mother a slut.” Draco said, his jaw clenched, as if saying those words was painful for him, but nevertheless he thought it was necessary for him to say so.

Harry regarded him slowly, trying to hide his shock, and answered:

“Thanks. And I don’t really think your father kisses Voldemort’s feet. I guess, he just really made a wrong choice. Hopefully you will be able to right his wrongs.”

Malfoy nodded in a silent acknowledgment, and with the last look at the boy, Harry left the office. It was, indeed, a very long Monday evening, and everything he dreamed about right now, was his comfortable bed and, hopefully, a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If something seems unclear so far please don't worry because I will explain everything - thousand times, in different words, through out this whole story.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter and please let me know, I love your comments! xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for taking up this long, believe me I'd have updated sooner but it all takes so much time and my studies aren't making it any easier unfortunately.  
> I'd like to thank you all for amazing comments and I'm so thrilled you like this story as I'm really putting all my heart into it. Please don't stop being so amazing! It means soo much to me <3
> 
> We're heading into the serious stuff here, please keep in mind all tags, and I'm slowly progressing with the boys getting a little closer.
> 
> Hope you will enjoy and don't forget to let me know! xx

Severus was sitting behind the desk, deeply lost in thought, his tea and essays long forgotten right next to him. It was almost six pm, Wednesday night, and he was contemplating the boy, or rather, as he had found out recently, a young man, which was supposed to come to his office in a few minutes.

How did it happen, that Harry Potter became one of the most frequent visitors in his mind? The most unwelcome too, but the fact remained. At least that was what Severus kept repeating to himself.

The Monday evening was a complete catastrophe. Starting with their argument, which was completely uncalled-for, and Severus had to agree that he did say too much, not like he was actually going to admit that to anyone any time soon, through this scene in Dumbledore’s office, and ending on his actions after that, or thoughts, for that matter.

Seeing Potter so lost in his anger, his cheeks flushed deep red, and his eyes stormy, making him look almost dangerous, woke something savage inside of him. And he didn’t mean savage as in grab him and curse him into oblivion. He meant savage as in grab him, shove him against the wall, and kiss him senseless until both of them would have been out of breath, gasping for air like fish deprived of water.

Severus shook his head rapidly, trying to get rid of the image which appeared in his mind. Replaying it all once again wasn’t too helpful. Definitely wouldn’t do any good to his, already interested, certain part of body. But then, another image flashed through his brain. Of Potter tilting his head, exposing this delicious neck to Severus, out of all people, completely unconsciously. How much he was craving to mark it as his own, in this very moment, how much he wanted to wrap his fingers around it, and savor the taste of this beautiful skin.

Severus got up from his chair rapidly and started pacing along the room. What the hell was going on with him? Was it this tutoring thing? Some rule, which Dumbledore forgot to tell them? That suddenly they would see their partners as, well… sexual partners? He shook his head, dismissing the idea. It wasn’t possible, he couldn’t even start to imagine how Malfoy would ever start seeing the Headmaster in this way, completely ridiculous.

Then what was it? Did Potter’s appearance change so much, that he had lost his head over it? So what if Potter was handsome, muscular, his eyes were completely intoxicating, and that he was radiating with this strange mixture of confidence, power and, surprisingly, modesty? None of it changed, that he was Severus’s student, the son of the man, who was among his top five enemies, not to mention someone who he completely loathed.

The sudden knock on his door put an end to his running thoughts, and he took a deep breath, putting a mask of indifference on his face. He might have lost his mind, but no way in hell he would let Potter see it. He wasn’t called the master of self-control for nothing.

“Enter.” He growled, sitting in his armchair.

The object of his thoughts came into the office, right on time, what surprised Severus because Potter, out of everything, had never been famous for his punctuality.

“Good evening, Professor.” He said respectfully, closing the door behind him.

“Mr. Potter.” Snape greeted him, and pointing at the sofa with his hand, added: “Sit.”

Gryffindor did as he was told, his eyes focused on the professor.

“Aren’t we going to do something tonight, sir?” He asked, rising his eyebrows in surprise.

“I believe you could define talking as “something”.” Snape answered mockingly, and Potter rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.

“Talking never ends up good.” He muttered under his breath, and Severus couldn’t help the amused twitch of his lips, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’ve heard you had a talk with Mr. Malfoy?” He asked, crossing his legs.

Potter nodded, relaxing a bit into the back of the couch.

“Yeah, we have some kind of truce now. He...” The boy cleared his throat. “He explained some things to me.” Potter’s voice was neutral, although knowing him as long as Severus did, he could hear the traces of annoyance and anger there. He rose one of his eyebrows in a silent question, his gaze piercing, and after a few seconds the younger man finally blurted:

“Why does everybody always have to keep me in dark? Firstly, you don’t tell me anything, and later you expect me to behave in a certain way. Don’t you think it’s a little messed up?” His voice was harsh and irritated, what also showed in the way he clutched his jaw. “Sir.” He added at the end, remembering about his manners.

Severus wrinkled his forehead, not really understanding what Potter was talking about. Well, it was true that Dumbledore had this, rather bad habit, of keeping his secrets from him, but how was it connected to Draco? The boy, probably sensing his confusion, sighed heavily and said:

“Malfoy told me, that he could never say anything to Voldemort because of his family’s priorities. That he’s loyal to you.” The last word of Potter’s sentence sounded more like an accusation, but Severus couldn’t comment on that, because the boy continued. “He values your decisions more than his father’s.” Potter’s eyebrows went up so high in silent astonishment, that they almost reached his hairline.

“It seems like you had a good time talking about me.” Severus sneered at him, feeling like this warm feeling, usually associated with Draco, spreads through his chest. He was more than grateful, that the boy trusted him to this level.

“How are you related?” Potter asked, ignoring the comment, curiosity clearly present in his voice.

“We’re not related in the sense of blood.” Severus answered, his voice matter-of-fact.

“Then why...” Potter started but the man interrupted him.

“He’s my godson.”

Gryffindor fell silent for a few seconds, proceeding what he had heard. It was almost as if Severus could see the cogwheels turning in his head.

“So please, enlighten me, why no one thought, that I should know about this?” Potter asked with irritation, shaking his head. His green eyes were sharp when he fixed them on Severus, who shrugged his arms.

“It’s a common knowledge, Potter. Every wizard and witch know about pure-blood families connections. It should be me asking you, why you didn’t know about this.” The man rose one of his eyebrows, carefully hiding his surprise why, in fact, the boy didn’t know.

“And who could have told me, huh? The Dursleys? Sirius right before he died? I don’t have any family, Snape.” Gryffindor’s face was flushed with anger, but Severus could see that the boy was trying to control his temper by the way he dig his nails into his palm. It seemed, like it was one of his ways to cope with emotions.

“What about Wesleys? Your friends?” He asked, wrinkling his forehead. It was, indeed, very interesting, and alarming, that the boy didn’t know about such basics. Severus was a half-blood himself, but his mother’s family put an extra care to teach him everything what he should have known, despite his father’s displeasure.

“I guess they took it for granted, just like you did. That I already knew everything. And it never came out in a discussion.” Potter shrugged his arms, visibly calmer, but the irritation was still present on his face. Severus regarded him carefully, rubbing his chin with a thumb in a thoughtful manner.

“You should talk to Miss Granger. She should manage to help you in this matter. And if not, I may be able to provide you with suitable literature.” Severus said, meeting Potter’s eyes, which widened with pure surprise. He smirked at him, adding:

“I’m your tutor and it’s my obligation to make sure you know everything what you should know. Don’t take it personally.”

The Gryffindor grinned, and Severus couldn’t fail to notice the way his green eyes brightened with the motion, gold sparks appearing in them. It was breath-taking, and he had to break the eye-contact as to not get lost in this gaze.

“Get up, Potter. We have work to do.” He barked, the self-defense mechanism kicking in, raising from the armchair himself. He wasn’t going to let this boy mess with his head.

“Sir? What about that meeting? Did Headmaster tell you something more on the topic we were supposed to discuss before the matters...” the boy hesitated, trying to find the accurate description. “Slightly got out of hand?”

Snape shook his head, walking over to his cabinet in order to bring out two Pensieves. One of them, his very own, was made of dark bronze, the metal covered with runes which made the complicated pattern all over the vessel. The black edges were thicker, and the color was slightly worn off, as if it had been touched too many times. The other one was much more simpler, bottle green and plain, although they were the same size.

“Unfortunately no. I suspect the meeting will be arranged again, hopefully without any more intrusions, in the upcoming days.” Severus answered, gesturing for Harry to come closer, and get on with removing the memories to the Pensieve. “I trust you know how to manage it?” He asked, arching one of his eyebrows at the boy, who nodded his head.

Potter approached the desk confidently, and while Severus pretended to get busy with his own preparations, he observed the young man very carefully.

Potter reached for the green Pensieve, moving it closer to him, and got out the wand from his pocket. He closed his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out, when he took a deep breath, and focused on withdrawing the memory. After few seconds, the silver substance appeared on the tip of his wand, and he shook it down into the Pensive. He repeated the procedure few more times, keeping his eyes closed, and Severus wondered again, what was it that Potter was trying to hide. Maybe he had some secret girlfriend he didn’t want anyone to know. Or maybe he was a player, using his name to get girls into his bed, fucking them senseless in every possible position. But wouldn’t he then use the opportunity to rub it into Severus’s face that, indeed, he enjoyed his life, the way Severus never could, at least not in his age?

The (un)wanted image of Potter, sliding into some faceless girl, his masculine back tightening with every move, his golden skin covered with sweat, his tights uptight, and his head threw back, lips slightly parted, appeared in his head, and Severus bit back a groan. Not the tracks he wanted to take while the object of his thoughts stood on the opposite side of his desk. Not the tracks he wanted to take _at all_.

He forced himself to clear his mind, and focus on withdrawing the memories, which he didn’t want Potter to see. Not like he believed the boy being capable of breaking through his defenses, but to be forewarned is to be forearmed. When the last of the strands touched the bottom of the Pensieve, he walked over to the middle of the room, waiting for Potter to stand in front of him. After few more seconds, the boy approached him, his face calm and confident, what strangely agitated Severus. He would make sure to wipe off this disturbing confidence from his expression. The wizards regarded each other carefully, tension palpable in the room, until Severus exclaimed:

“Legilimens!”

But nothing happened. Severus bounced off from Potter’s defenses. Who was now smirking at him with self-satisfaction.

“You know, Professor, I’d have expected something better from you.” He said cheekily, raising his eyebrows nonchalantly.

“Don’t get so ahead of yourself, Potter.” Severus scowled at him, straightening the front of his robes in a collected manner. “I gave you a head start.”

Potter chuckled under his breath, his eyes filled with amusement.

“Of course, sir.”

Severus gritted his teeth, trying to convince himself, that he didn’t feel the slight touch of amusement himself. If Potter wanted to challenge him, he would fulfill his wish. Wasn’t that what everyone did for the Golden Boy?

His next, much strengthen attack, reached home, and he felt how his mind slips through Potter’s barriers. Only to be thrown out two seconds later.

Severus furrowed his brows, fixing his onyx eyes on the boy, his gaze astute.

“You’ve been practicing Occlumency on your own?” He asked, his voice more surprised than he intended it to be.

Potter shrugged his arms softly, the expression on his face turning serious.

“I might have underestimated your trials on teaching me that, sir. But after fifth year,” he looked away, avoiding Severus’s eyes. “I realized that was foolish. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.” He emphasized on the last word, his gaze coming back to Severus’s, and the man could see pure determination there.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter.” Severus answered, wrinkling his forehead in focus. There was something more into that, than what had happened in the Ministry. He didn’t know how he knew it but, somehow, he did, and it was bugging him now. He would find out what was going on with this boy, sooner or later. At the end, he wasn’t a spy for almost twenty years for nothing.

He attacked Potter again, without any warning, and the glimpse of him hugging some woman in front of the Hogwarts Express, flew through his mind, before the boy managed to throw him out.

This repeated several times, most of his attempts shut down before he could do as much as peek at Potter’s memories, and it was making Severus really irritated. He was one of the strongest Legilimens alive, for Merlin’s sake! The boy couldn’t be that good, surely! And Severus didn’t forget how exasperation could boost up the strength. Nothing was as motivating as anger.

So he let it fill him up, let the fire spread through his veins, until it reached the furthest tips of his fingers and toes. Until he didn’t see the boy in front of him, his student, but an enemy, who was a threat. And there is only one thing you do with a threat. You destroy it.

The next time he cast the spell, it sliced Potter’s mind like a knife through a warm butter. He could feel the wizard’s surprise, it seemed as if his mind stumbled under the strength of the spell, and finally the force was enough for Severus to emerge the memory.

The boy was laying in the bed, the covers threw away partially, while he was tossing and turning, and Severus didn’t need too much time to realize, that he was having a nightmare. He scanned the room the wizard was in, and took in the crumpled balls of parchment littered around it, the empty cage of Potter’s owl, which looked as if it hadn't been cleaned up for several days, and the putting off… emptiness of the place. Except for the bed, small wardrobe in the corner, and a pair of jeans with a t-shirt, lying across a chair, the room was completely empty. There were no drawers, not even a mirror, and the boy’s trunk was also gone. It had to be Potter’s bedroom at the Dursley’s.

The agitated moan made Severus focus at the boy, who still asleep, turned his face away from the wall, and Severus’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t believe it was the same boy he saw just seconds ago.

His cheek was severely bruised and he had a black eye, or more like two black eyes, which looked so bizarre, as if he had enormous bags under his eyes. But Severus knew they were no bags. They were fists marks. His bottom lip was badly swollen and the upper one had a serious cut, with dried blood still present. Potter looked, as if he had had a car accident. Or had been seriously beaten. Severus took in the rest of his body, noticing with great surprise, that the muscles, which he associated the boy with recently, were gone. More than gone, he was nothing but skin and bones. It had to be a pretty old memory then.

The sudden scream, which cut through the silence, made the surprised man shiver with dread. It was a terrifying scream, full of agony, as if the boy was being skinned alive.

And it wouldn’t stop. Severus’s heart raced, horror filling his whole chest, making him almost choke with sorrow. He was a Death Eater, he had seen so many people in excruciating pain, writhing in their own piss and shit, so much of it caused by his own wand, but he had never, ever heard such a penetrating scream. It was as if the sound was trying to imprint itself in his brain, forever, leaving an open wound, leaking with blood. If he could, he would have covered his ears with hands to block out the sound, but it was Harry’s memory. He was only a spectator here.

And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and the boy’s eyelids flew open rapidly. He was breathing hard, hugging his knees into his chest, trying to stop the sobs from escaping his lips, fear almost carved into his face permanently, and Severus had never seen anything so heart-breaking. He felt the unexpected urge to come to the boy, try to comfort him somehow, make all this pain to go away, because he knew himself what it meant to deal with such nightmares. And the boy saw enough to have his whole life time filled with them. However, he couldn’t do anything, and Severus felt a weird stung of guiltiness, that he had pushed the boy so hard. He wasn’t supposed to see this.

The abrupt movement on the bed made him focus on the boy again, and he saw him clutching the covers, with whitening from the force of the grip fingers, hastily wrapping himself into the material. It was a panic movement and Severus saw it as one, only when he had heard the thumping steps coming from the corridor.

“Fuck.” Harry whispered, his voice hoarse and almost hysterical. He slid closer to the wall, trying to almost blend into it, and Severus furrowed his brows. Was he so afraid, that he had woken up his uncle and aunt? Weren’t they supposed to take care of him, somehow, if he had such drastic nightmares?

But when the series of clicks resonated in the almost empty room, which were the sounds of locks getting open, Severus realized with shock, the boy didn’t look any calmer. In fact, he looked even worse than before.

The door finally opened and the light from the corridor fell on the tiny figure in the bed, bringing out the unhealthy color of his face, and the raw emotion which Severus couldn’t find the name for. Harry’s body was visibly trembling, when he curled into the ball, trying to shrink, trying to disappear.

“I’ve told you, boy, that when you fucking wake us up again, you will find out what the real nightmare is, you piece of shit!” The very furious Vernon Dursley walked into the room, closing the door with a shut, which sounded ten times louder than it was supposed to. Severus knew, that as it was Harry’s memory, everything was highlighted by his emotions, but what he failed to understand, was why would he be so afraid of his uncle? What was going on in this house? Did he have anything to do with boy’s bruises?

But he had never founded out because, suddenly, he was thrown out from the boy’s mind, coming back to the reality, the sudden brightness of the room hurting his eyes.

He looked up and saw Potter bracing his hands on his knees, breathing hard, covered in sweat. It had to take lots of energy to throw Severus out like that, he knew it. The force of the spell was too strong, once he actually got inside. He walked over to the younger wizard, so different in appearance from this broken boy he had just seen, and gripped his arm. Potter, absentmindedly, let his professor to drag him to the sofa, and sat him there unprecedentedly. Severus seated himself next to him, the distance big enough that he didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Potter? What was that?” Severus asked carefully, studying his face closely. The boy didn’t say anything, or even move, for that matter, for a few long seconds, until he took a deep breath, a bitter smile appearing on his lips.

“I believe, that was my memory, Professor. Which, if you don’t mind me saying, you almost ripped out from me.” He said in a hoarse voice, shaking his head in disbelief, his eyes never meeting Severus’s.

“Why were you in such a… bad state?” He asked, ignoring the comment, knowing that it was, indeed, true. The strength of the spell was very great, and he supposed he could break through anyone’s mind with it. He tried not to make hasty assumptions and remind indifferent, knowing from experience, that it was the best approach in situations where abuse was suspected.

What didn’t stop his anger to boil inside. If he was right, and the physical abuse took place in that house, he was not going to ignore it. He might have hated Potter, but he was still a wizard and if someone did as much as even dare to raise a hand at him, he would deal with it. And a muggle! Out of everyone! He had to greet his teeth to force himself not to lose his temper.

Potter snorted humorlessly and Severus saw how he clenches his hands into fists, in the already known manner, digging his nails into his palms.

“I had a little accident, let’s say. Not as it’s any of your business, sir.” He answered, his voice deadly calm, which worried Severus more, than if the boy were throwing a tantrum. Calm Potter was unpredictable and he had no idea how to deal with unpredictable Potter.

“It is my business. You’re my student, not to mention that I’m your tutor, and despise our… differences, it’s my job to make sure you’re not hurt in any way.” Severus answered, not really knowing how to reach out to the boy. He knew how to talk to his Slytherins, how to break through them, but with Potter, these were unknown waters. Not to mention the boy didn’t trust him him in the slightest. Which was completely reasonable.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Professor.” Potter said, getting up from the sofa abruptly. “It was just an accident, nothing to be worried about, really, and it was long time ago. I’ve completely forgotten about this memory.” He murmured the last sentence under his breath, that Severus barely heard it, and he was strangely confident, that the next time they practice the Occlumency, it would be carefully hidden among others, in the Pensieve.

“If the thought ever crossed your mind, even though I believe it won’t, please don’t feel guilty about what happened. It was a good thing you’ve broken me. At least now I know there’s still some practice for me to do. And, as you’ve said, it is your job.” Potter’s lips curved up in a smile, which never reached his eyes. He walked over to the desk and quickly put all of his memories back in place. “Goodnight, Professor. See you on Saturday.”

And with those words he was gone, leaving Severus in complete shock. And that would be all as for reaching out to Potter. The man raised his wand and summoned a bottle of whiskey, as well as a glass. He didn’t believe in Potter’s bullshit even for a second, but it was clear as crystal that he didn’t want to talk about that. Severus took a sip from his glass, thinking hard on what to do. Maybe he should just let the matter go for now, make the young man trust him even slightly, to convince him to confide in him. He didn’t know why it mattered to him to find out the truth. It wasn’t as if he cared for the boy, did he? No, it had to be the curiosity, and the habit to always gather as much information as he possibly could. Or maybe it was the sense of duty, at the end he was boy’s teacher. Even if the boy in speech wasn’t a boy anymore.

He took another sip, confident in his motives, when the image of Harry’s face right before the memory suddenly ended up, flashed through his mind once again. This time, however, he was able to name the expression which appeared there. And it made his guts turn upside down, his chest clutch in despair.

It was terror. Absolute and gut-writhing terror.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back! Hope you've missed me and I'm sooo sorry it took me so long with this chapter. Life was crazy and only now I've managed to find some time to write. I'm pretty confident that now I'll have much more of it so you can expect another chapter in the next few days (I hope!) 
> 
> I'd like to thank AnaTheOtherAlien for betting this chapter, she did her job amazingly quickly! 
> 
> I have so many ideas going on that you should keep track on this story because lots of things are going to happen soon. Hope you'll like this chapter and let me know your thoughs! 
> 
> Enjoy xx

Just like Snape predicted, the interrupted meeting from Monday was rescheduled, only a little earlier than Harry had expected. It was only after he came back from his session with Nail, where he had managed to talk about their last week meeting  and inform the man that he preferred to keep their relationship in more professional manners (after all, Hermione was right and Harry didn’t think he could be with someone who should have been his therapist, what didn’t change that he had agreed to remain friends with the man) and discuss thoroughly his feelings in regard to Snape finding out about this particular memory (of course he kept the Legilimency part to himself), before he actually got the message. Fortunately, it was scheduled at seven thirty and he came back few minutes after seven, so he wouldn’t be late and rise any suspicions.

On his way to the Dumbledore’s office he was trying to sort out everything what he had discussed with his therapist, especially the part about unwanted information leaking to someone whom he didn’t quite trust. However, i t was a lost cause as he couldn’t even tell what was Snape’s actual reaction.

At the beginning, he thought that his Professor would ignore the matter completely (or maybe it was what he had hoped for) as he was pretty confident that Snape wouldn’t feel any creepy satisfaction seeing him in a such… dreadful state. After all, he saved his neck more times than not and he wouldn’t do this if he wanted to see Harry seriously harmed, right? But later, Snape had actually tried to talk to him, had tried to find out what had happened and it was pretty confusing because it wasn’t like Snape  _cared,_ was it? 

Harry snorted, shaking his head internally. No, that was completely ridiculous. It was probably because Harry, no matter what, was his student and he had to fulfill his responsibilities due to this position, never mind his personal feelings. Not to mention he had to see Harry face Voldemort  and  get rid of this bastard who was poisoning his life. So Snape didn’t care, it was all from selfish reasons.

He had tried to tell all of this to his therapist in words which wouldn’t indicate anything connected to magic, and Nail had asked him one question which wouldn’t leave Harry alone.  It  stuck in his head and bugg ed him even after he had left his office. 

_How would he feel if Snape found out the whole truth?_ He never intended to tell the man, that was for sure.  However, that wasn’t the answer to that question. So how would he really feel? 

The prospect was pretty scary, actually. Terrifying even. What if it were only pity he would see in those bottomless, onyx eyes? What if Snape started to act weirdly around him, maybe even stopped being  his mean, snarky, usual self? Well, that would be a change, definitely. Not possible in the slightest, too. 

Snape would never change. Harry suspected that he didn’t even want him to. As much as he hated to admit that (and only when Hell freezes over, he would admit that to anyone else), the man’s attitude was… refreshing. And reassuring. No matter what happens, no matter his past or future, he could always be confident that Snape would be just the same. He would never pretend to be someone who he wasn’t to gain Harry’s sympathy or because he felt sorry for him.  T hat was something Harry actually valued in the man. He was so sick of people trying to cozy up to him only because his last name was Potter. Only because he was The-Fucking-Boy-Who-Lived. So, he could cross pity out of his list. 

Maybe he would be relieved if Snape knew. At least then he wouldn’t be forced to hide everything, always  stay in control, always on edge  with his guard constantly in place. It was tiring enough to keep it up the whole day with his schoolmates and other teachers  around. What a relief that would be, if for those hours he was spending the man with, he could just let it go.  He could s top controlling his every move, every expression, every fucking word which was about to leave his mouth. 

It was only a second week into the school year and he already longed for summer. 

Still, no matter how he would feel, he could never work up the courage to talk with Snape.  T he mere idea was making him to want to laugh hysterically. How could he even start?  _By the way, Professor, did you know that the Dursleys abused me? That they lock_ _ed_ _me up in the cupboard till I was eleven? That I would get nothing to eat for weeks? That they would beat the shit out of me?_

No, that wouldn’t do. He doubted Snape would really care. He had more important problems than the unhappy childhood of the Great Harry Potter. 

Lately, however, the man was more than surprising. They only had one fight in two weeks. That was something, wasn’t it? Most of his time he at least tried to be civil, if one ignored the lack of patience, the cutting remarks and this whole “I know you’re an idiot, Potter” attitude.  H e didn’t have to give Harry a Pensieve, he could force him to learn Occlumency with all those memories present, right?  T he ointment, which Snape gave him for this dislocated arm, made miracles and he couldn’t understand why Madame Pomfrey has never given it to him for his Quidditch injuries. That could have saved him some sleepless nights, for sure. So, maybe there was more to Snape than the man let him see throughout those past years? 

His overthinking was rapidly stopped when he turned around the corner and collided with something hard, ma king the air in his lungs leave him with a loud poof. He has tried to take a step back to prevent himself from falling, but before he managed to, a strong hand grasped his forearm and steadied him. 

“Mr. Potter. Seems like you are a danger not only to yourself, but to others too,” a low, dark voice reached Harry’s ears and he rose his eyes, meeting the onyx-black ones of his Professor. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he answered, feeling a little woozy. Who would have thought that Snape’s chest could be so sturdy? 

Harry’s eyes lingered on th at specific part of Snape’s body and he wondered for a second if underneath all those layers of material were hidden strong, slender muscles.

How would it feel to have their weight above him, pinning him to the mattress? To caress them with his  own hands, feel them flexing under his fingers? 

Where the hell  _those_ thoughts came from? 

Suddenly, the closeness of their bodies was too much for Harry and he felt like his own chest tighten with anxiety. He looked up, very conscious of Snape’s hand still gripping his forearm and met the man’s intense gaze. It seemed like it was almost piercing through out him, reaching deep into his soul, and Harry felt like all hairs on his arm stand up. He could get lost into this invasive, burning gaze. 

He didn’t know how much time passed.  I t could have been merely a second or an hour as far as he was concerned, but then, all of the sudden, Snape was taking a step back  and s traightening his robes.  The b lank expression  was present on his face once again. 

“Do pay more attention in the future, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, clenching his jaw and Harry, still a little dumbstruck, nodded his head and turned on his heel.

“Potter? Where the hell are you going?” Came a cutting question from behind him and he looked over his arm, rising an eyebrow in a surprised manner.

“To the Headmaster’s office? Shouldn’t you be going there as well, sir?”

The corner of Snape’s lips arched upward a little when he pointed at something on the opposite wall. 

“You’ve just missed the Gargoyle,” He answered and when Harry looked into this direction, he felt embarrassment burn his face in a bright pink color. Snape was right of course, and the younger man had indeed missed the statue. He wasn’t exactly sure how that was possible but… merely seconds ago he was imaging his Potions professor in a sexual situation. Not one of his good days, it seemed.

“Oh, right,” Harry murmured and turned back, heading into the right direction this time. He wasn’t exactly sure if the chuckle he heard when he passed Snape was just the product of his excessive imagination or if it actually happened. 

 

The Headmaster’s office was crowded and Harry had this weird feeling of déjà vu when he looked up at all the people present. Indeed, they were all the same from Monday evening, even sitting at the same places! He nodded politely into Malfoy’s direction and exchanged greetings with his Head of the House, as well as the Headmaster, before he sunk at his chair. Snape, just like before, sat next to Malfoy, but Harry tried with all his might not to let his eyes w a nder into that direction. He had to stay focused! It wasn’t the time to analyze what had happened in the corridor. With some luck, by the end of this meeting, he would forget anything happened at all. 

“Good evening, everyone,” Dumbledore’s voice broke through Harry’s mind and he fixed his gaze on him. “I’m very glad that everyone received my message and could appear at this meeting. I hope that all the problems we came across on the previous one, have been solved.”

Harry felt the twinkling gaze focus on him so he nodded his head in confirmation. He wasn’t going to make another scene this time. 

“Good, very good. Let’s begin then,” Headmaster took a deep breath but before he said anything else, he waved his wand quickly and eight cups of tea appeared before them.

“To begin with, I’d like to emphasize that everything we are about to discuss here is of a very discreet matter. I do believe that you realize the importance of provided information and you will refrain from sharing it with anyone else,” Dumbledore’s voice hardened while he seized everyone up. “And by anyone else, I mean anyone who isn’t here, no matter if it’s family, the most trusted of friend or even your pets. We’ve already learnt that even animals might be spies in disguise.” 

Harry kept his face blank at this blatant reference to Wormtail, even though nervousness was slowly settling inside of his stomach. They were really doing this. Planning how to kill Voldemort and he had to play the most important role due this whole stupid Prophecy. He was the one who had to kill  him in the end.

He wasn’t ready for this. 

_Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t let the panic settle. You’ll handle it. You’ve survived worse._

Harry tried to even his breathing out, closing his eyes for a second and focusing on what Nail taught him during their sessions.  _In and out, imagine how panic leaves you with every exhale._

When he calmed enough to refocus on Dumbledore, he opened his eyes  and hoped no one noticed his little slip but the onyx-black gaze, which met his almost immediately, told him that wasn’t the case. Snape’s look was curious and his brows were furrowed, but Harry quickly broke the contact, pretending nothing happened. 

“You’re all probably wondering what was the real meaning behind carrying out this special project this year. Of course, one of the reasons was to train and prepare you to face this war but that wasn’t the only one. The second reason is specifically connected to destroying Voldemort,” Dumbledore hung his voice, taking a sip from the cup. Harry suspected he was graduating the tension especially to make him even more nervous. 

“I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out why Voldemort survived the backfired Killing Course and from many different hypothesis, there is only one which is the most possible, in my opinion. I believe Severus will be able to confirm that, Voldemort’s power isn’t only his own. Throughout the Dark Marks he is able to not only summon his followers but to also drain power from them. When the killing curse rebounded from Harry, it already lost some of its terrifying power, being absorbed by him and also by the surroundings. Though it still would kill the average-power person, it was too weak to destroy someone who had hundreds different people’s power on hand. That’s why Voldemort’s soul was able to survive. 

We cannot make the same mistake again. The Killing Course will have to overpower not only Voldemort’s strength, but also all of his followers. This is almost an impossible task to fulfill, of course if we didn’t make the Dark Mark on our own and Harry would be able to drain power from our people, what is uncalled-for. That’s why I’ve been trying to find another way and, happily, there might be one but the further research is still needed. From what I was able to gather, there is a ritual of some sorts  that would enable a person who is conducting it, to increase their power significantly, adequately to their own power. It means that the stronge r the person is, the more efficiently it would work. We are very lucky that the person who is destined to do it, is Harry, who, as we all know, is rather extraordinarily powerful,”  The h eadmaster inclined his head in  the young man’s direction, who felt really uncomfortable in that moment. He never believed he was special in any way and he suspected that would never change. He would really prefer if everyone just left him alone and in peace, to hell with all this power. 

“However, even though I was able to confirm that this ritual exists, there isn’t much more information I’m able to provide to you at this moment. Actually, the only thing I know more is that to conduct it there has to be at least nine people, whose age is close to this person whose power will be increased. That’s why I’ve decided to conduct this project this year and let the Sorting Hat choose the proper students whose magical signatures would be as close to Harry’s as possible.”

The silence fell all over the room and Harry had the feeling that he wasn’t the only one who was completely dumbstruck. So the only reason behind all this mess was some ritual which no one has ever heard about, which probably didn’t even have any proper name and on which they didn’t have almost any information about? 

If they thought that Dumbledore had some good plan, which they could bring to life immediately and would ease some of their anxiety, they were all proved wrong.

“So...” Harry cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts. “So we have almost nothing, then,” he said what was probably on everyone’s mind.

“I can’t agree with you, Harry,” Dumbledore answered, the twinkling in his eyes making Harry to want to laugh hysterically. “We’ve the most gifted people in this school focused on this matter and I believe it’s only the matter of time when we find out more information on this ritual.”

Harry blinked, trying to figure out if the Headmaster was serious or if that was some big joke. He couldn’t be serious, could he? How the hell they were supposed to achieve that if he, himself, wasn’t able to?

“So what exactly do you expect of us then, Headmaster?” Malfoy asked and Harry was almost sure that he tried very, very hard not to sound sarcastic. 

“I’d like you, Mr. Malfoy, to cooperate with Miss Granger on researching more in this matter. I believe that Mr. Longbottom will also be able to help you out, or to be more specific, his extensive library at home. I hope that Mr. Potter will give you access to both Black’s and Potter’s libraries as well. I’d also like you to continue with the training, especially you Harry. The ritual won’t increase your other skills other than power, so it’s very important that you use all the time provided to maximum extend.”

“Headmaster,” Hermione spoke, her voice shaking a little. “I’m not sure if we have time for all of this, especially with NEWTs coming up. I mean, we already have three evenings taken because of training and I’m afraid we could seriously fall back in curriculum. Of course, defeating You-Know-Who is much more important but it’s our future at stake.”

“I don’t expect you to keep up the training plan as scheduled as it is now, Hermione. I believe that finding out as much as we can about this ritual is our priority now, that’s why the best solution would be for you to spend two out of those three evenings on research and one on training. You have my full permission on leaving the school as you see fit, as long as it’s connected to this project and your tutor accompany you. I’ll also focus all of my attention into finding out more,” Dumbledore answered, smiling reassuringly at the young woman. 

“Do the others know that they will be expected to take part in this ritual?” Harry asked, wrinkling his forehead. He couldn’t imagine Zabini, for example, willingly taking part in something what was supposed to help him destroy Voldemort. And for sure, he wasn’t going to force anyone to do it for him. How much different would he be from Voldemort then?

“Not yet. I don’t think it’s necessary for them to know now, when we have so little information on hand. Although, I believe that the Sorting Hat did its choosing very thoroughly and we won’t come across any problems in this matter. Plus, the less people know about it for now, the better. We can’t risk leaking this information to Voldemort. If we could surprise him with the amount of your power then the chances of us winning are much more increased.” 

Harry could see logic there and even though he didn’t like the idea of leading people on, he had to agree with the Headmaster. It was already difficult enough to trust with this, not only Snape but also Malfoy, never mind the others.

“I believe we’ve covered everything for today and I hope that you will put all your effort into what I’ve asked you to do. I know that’s a great responsibility and it might take quite a lot of time but I do believe that working together will help us achieve this goal,” Dumbledore said, raising from his chair and brushing his long beard with one hand. “If you have any questions please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Harry had thousands questions, like why Dumbledore entrusted seventeen years old teenagers with something that important or why did he decide to conduct the choosing already, when he didn’t have almost any information about it.  Why  not when they actually knew something so he wouldn’t be forced to spend his almost every evening with Snape, at the end he could be trained by almost anyone else, but he doubted that the headmaster meant that kind of questions. Instead, he just nodded his head and bid goodnight.  He l eft the office, his head going over every piece of information he heard, no matter how little that was. On his way out, he met Hermione’s confused gaze and it reassured him that they were going to analyze everything, long and thoroughly.  P robably with the help of Ron. Of course, they weren’t supposed to share this information with anybody but Harry couldn’t care less about that at this moment. He needed all the help possible. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter, I'd like you to know that not all of the things happening in this story will be kept strictly in canon. The horcruxes, for example. There will be none of those here because they don't match this story. Since I've started to think about the plot, I knew that I'd throw them away so I probably should have told you that earlier but yeah. No horcruxes. 
> 
> And as for the rest of the canon, it's hard to tell because I don't want to spoiler you the story. I've already mentioned the Prophecy, so this stays and the death of Sirius, which also stays as it's very important to the plot. 
> 
> If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask, I will try to answer them as good as I can!
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and the kudos and everything, I love every single one of them! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and big thanks to
> 
>  
> 
> [AnaTheOtherAlien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaTheOtherAlien/profile)
> 
>  
> 
> for being the amazing beta, she really did a great job and I couldn't be more grateful!
> 
> Have fun xx

“Neville? Neville!” Hermione exclaimed, poking the blond boy with her elbow. “Wake up!”

Her friend murmured something under his breath and turned his head away from the girl, in the same time creasing the page he was currently lying upon.

It’s been two weeks into their research and they got exactly nothing. No information about the ritual which Dumbledore was talking about, not even something remotely similar. Of course they knew it wouldn’t be a piece of cake but together with their training and regular studying it was really tiring them out.

“Come on, we have to finish with those tonight!” Hermione poked Neville again, sighing with exasperation but the boy was immune to her actions.

“Let him be, Granger. It’s useless and we can finish this on our own. At the end, it’s Friday. We have the whole night ahead of us,” Draco said ironically, opening yet another book and flipping through its pages without paying much attention to it.

“Yeah, but I was supposed to spend this evening with Ron. It seems like we haven’t seen each other at all since the year has started.” The girl answered, putting an elbow on the desk and leaning her cheek on her palm.

“Don’t expect me to listen about your problems in a relationship. I really couldn’t care less,” Draco answered, giving her a crooked smile.

“Oh, of course not, Malfoy. How could I dare to voice my thoughts out loud?” Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes.

Throughout this short time, they hadn’t exactly become friends. There was still a long road ahead of them to achieve that, especially with the kind of history which they shared. However, they learned to be civil around each other. It was rather inevitable if one spent several hours with the other at least three times a week. Actually, it was easier than Draco had expected once he remembered not to call Granger a mudblood or Longbottom an idiot, whenever they said something, which was definitely too often.

As a matter of fact, the boy was rather surprised by Neville’s intelligence. Once he overcame his shyness due to other boy’s presence, he spoke freely and his ideas were really good. The whole system which they were working by was actually the Gryffindor’s suggestion.

They started with the Hogwarts library as that was the most obvious choice. They suspected that Dumbledore had already gone through some of the books there but when asked about it, he said that he focused on sources which were harder to get. So Neville thought that it would be a good idea to cover as many different areas of knowledge as possible seeing that none of them knew what this ritual would actually consist of. That’s why Draco focused on Potions, Charms and Dark Magic books as he specialized in those fields. He wasn’t sure if the last one should be taken as a compliment, but he didn’t complain. Hermione concentrated on Transfiguration, Runes and Arithmancy while Neville focused on Herbology and surprisingly, Magical Theory. It turned out that the boy understood the rules of magical cores and creating the spells based almost only on his instinct. It was marvelous to watch him sometimes, when he got lost into his explanations; his face all lit up with excitement and his eyes shining brightly. Not like Draco noticed that, because he didn’t. It was what Granger told him once.

Just like he didn’t notice the change in Neville’s appearance and how… manly he started to look. How wide he was in shoulders, how deep his laugh was and how he would get a subtle stubble when he spent his time reading into the long hours in the night. It wasn’t only on one occasion that they would stay up till almost morning, trying to find out anything. No, of course he didn’t notice any of that. He just heard those things from gossiping girls in the common room.

Even though if you asked anyone if Draco was gay, they would deny it as fast as possible, seeing how many girls were interested in him and how he wasn’t really blowing them off, he in fact was. He simply preferred to keep it in secret, unlike Potter, who would stare shamelessly at guy’s asses, without even realizing it. It really wasn’t anyone’s business. He would never admit that, in fact, he wasn’t ready for people to know. To face his parents disappointment that not only he wasn’t supporting the Dark Lord, but he also wouldn’t give them an heir. He was a Malfoy after all. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything, especially something that theoretically wasn’t “such a big deal.”

“I can’t do this anymore today,” Draco moaned helplessly, rubbing his forehead with his thumbs. The headache was slowly driving him crazy. “To hell with all of this.” He finally groaned and shut the book with a loud thud causing Neville to jump up in his chair abruptly.

“What’s going on?” He grunted, looking around with a confused expression on his face.

“We’re calling it a night,” Hermione answered, closing her book as well. “We deserve a free evening, for heaven’s sake.” She seemed very annoyed, unlike the usual calm witch she was. Maybe the irritation due to fruitless searching was rubbing off on her too.

Neville looked at a clock and when it showed that it was only few minutes after nine, he groaned.

“I’ve fallen asleep so early? How is that possible?” He asked, looking down at the crumbled page which was torn in few places. The boy sighed and with a quick wave of his wand fixed the results of him falling asleep while reading.

“That only proves my point that we need a break,” Hermione commented and put the books into her bag. “I will try to read some of those tomorrow. See you later, guys.” And with those words she was gone, leaving the astonished boys in the library.

“Well, if Hermione says that we should take a break, we are obligated to do so. It’s like an early Christmas,” Neville said and Draco couldn’t help but chuckle. If there was at least one thing he learnt about the girl during this short time, it would be that it was true, indeed.

 

Harry braced himself against his knees, panting hard.

“Come on, Professor, I just _know_ you can do better.” He chuckled, raising his hand to wipe off a trickle of blood coming down from his nose. That last spell caught him a little by surprise.

“Didn’t you have enough, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked, raising his eyebrows and looking down at him.

The Gryffindor shook his head, the small smile never leaving his face.

“This is fun.” He answered, straightening up.

Harry moved his wand-wrist in different directions a few times, trying to get rid of the pins and needles. “I’m actually surprised.”

“This is not supposed to be _fun_ , Mr. Potter. It’s supposed to prepare you to face the Dark Lord. Which, I can assure you, will be everything _but_ fun,” Snape responded, rolling the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbows.

“Don’t ruin it for me, please. I’ve almost forgotten,” Harry said, sighing with faked annoyance.

He looked down, his eyes weirdly driven to the revealed tattoo at his Professor’s forearm, suddenly very intrigued by it. Of course, he has seen the Dark Mark before, but the contrast of its deep black colour and the milky-white skin made it very difficult to take his eyes off it. He felt compelled to run his fingers over it, feel the roughness of its edges underneath. The fact that man’s arm was nicely curved and muscular wasn’t helping.

“You’re starring, Potter.” Snape’s voice broke through Harry’s thoughts and he tore his gaze away immediately, feeling a blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to...” He didn’t finish, not sure how to continue. He ran his hand through his jet-black hair, embarrassed at being caught. He could feel Snape’s intense look on him, probably judging his reaction.

“May I ask you a question?” Harry bit his lower lip, nervously rolling it with his teeth. He didn’t want to come out as too nosy especially because his Professor didn’t belong to the category of most opened people.

“I believe you just did,” Snape replied, raising his eyebrows. “Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and decided to risk his luck. So he asked:

“Why did you join Him?”

Snape didn’t seem to be surprised by the question but the way he clenched his teeth gave away that he didn’t like to talk about it. The man was silent for a few seconds and Harry started to doubt that he would answer, when he finally spoke:

“I was young and stupid. Add ambition to it and you get an explosive mixture.” He shrugged his shoulders, a blank mask present on his face. “I thought that...” Snape cleared his throat and glanced, unfocused, at the tattoo “That he understood me. He was the very first person who actually listened to me and never ridiculed my opinions. In fact, he valued them and asked for them. I felt special around him, even appreciated. A lot of time had to pass until I learned how not to seek it from others but to fill it within me. It wasn’t until I learned my own value that I saw him for the person who he really was and not for who I wanted him to be. I saw an evil man who wanted to destroy everything good in this world, for his own pleasure. But when it happened, it was already too late...” He stopped abruptly, gritting his teeth, and Harry caught a glimpse of raw rage present on his face. It did not last longer than two seconds, before he constrained it, and the young man wasn’t sure if it was just the image of his own imagination.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Harry said, his voice barely above whisper. It wasn’t hard to picture the situation of bitter teenager, unacknowledged at home as well as in school who was bullied by his peers and seeking for just a glimpse of comfort. Maybe even love. Harry could imagine that and his heart ached for this teenager because he once felt like that too. Before he came to Hogwarts, and before he met his friends and the Wesleys, he sought exactly the same thing. He got lucky because that was exactly what he had found, a new family. Who knew what would have happened if that wasn’t the case? Maybe he would have also become a Death Eater, just like Snape?

“I don’t need your pity, Potter.” The man spat, turning away from Harry and walking over to his desk. “We’ve finished for today. You’re dismissed.”

Harry stood for a few seconds, simply staring at his Professor’s tense back and wishing he could somehow make up the lost years for this man and the people who he had to sacrifice. It hit him hard that before he knew it, all the hatred he felt for Snape, evaporated.

 

After he left the Snape’s office, Harry needed some time alone to think. Even though, the training was pretty intense, he didn’t feel tired. The opposite actually. He seemed to be bursting out with energy so he accioed his broom and proceeded to the Quidditch pitch. He craved for a good fly which never failed to help him clear his mind.

Harry was very confused, indeed. He didn’t expect that the fact that Snape became his tutor would change how he looked at the man. That he would get to know him, at least to some level. And he certainly didn’t expect to like those meetings. Well, maybe like was a too big word for it. He didn’t loathe them anymore, maybe even anticipated them sometimes. Epecially when he wanted to just get lost in something and not think about future or past. Duelings were a great solution for it. He liked that he could see the other side of the man, then. More relaxed and approachable. He even noticed that Snape’s insults were way too sarcastic to be insults anymore but perfectly covered jokes. What was going on with him if he started to see the man as _funny_? Maybe he should go to Madame Pomfrey for a quick checkup. Ron would have definitely advise that.

Harry chuckled under his breath, doing a loop over one of the goal posts. His friends would really think that he was going crazy, more so if they knew how much time he actually spent simply observing the man. There was something really captivating in the way he moved, not only when he was fighting but also when he didn’t realize he was the object of someone else’s attention. When he walked or gestured with his hands while explaining the abstruse theory of spells or potions. There was something so elegant in that, that Harry felt compelled to watch, no matter how much he tried to fight with the urge. He felt like a stalker sometimes, when they would sit together and he was supposed to be reading the material Snape told him to. Instead of focusing on the book, he would focus on the man. On the way a feather quill would brush against the man’s lips while he was reading the essays. Even the way his brows would furrow when he especially didn’t like what was written there. Harry felt his compulsion to trace their shape with his fingers, to smooth out the wrinkles between them and he had no idea where all of this was coming from.

Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the images but it was easier said than done. He suspected, he was just frustrated, just like Ron pointed out after that failure with Nail. If he came this far as think so much about the man who he loathed for six years, it had to be the frustration. There wasn’t any other explanation, right? Any other prospect was way too terrifying to even consider.

Harry tried to clear his head, using the techniques he learnt during Occlumency and finally, it worked. He managed to get so lost in his flying that he didn’t notice a black figure which was observing him from one of the upper windows.

 

Harry was dreaming. He knew he had to be dreaming because such darkness couldn’t exist in the real world. He had experience in those things. After all, he spent more than half of his life closed in the cupboard. There always was some source of light, no matter how small coming from under the crack of the door. Even the boards of the wooden floor had some light, which was the one in his cupboard. Not this time, however. When he tried to open his eyes, it didn’t make any real difference. The darkness wouldn’t give out anything under his seeking look. Just seas and seas of black.

But for once, this surrounding darkness wasn’t scary. It wasn’t trying to get into his eyes and ears, making him blind and deaf from dismay. It wasn’t trying to suffocate him with its impenetrability and bitterness. It was almost warm. Comforting.

It wasn’t until few seconds, that he realized he wasn’t alone. There was someone else with him, in this room or whatever it was. Once he caught on that, he could hear the breathing of this person very clearly. It was a steady, deep breathing, almost as if the person was sleeping. Somehow, Harry knew they weren’t. They were looking at him and he couldn’t understand how it was possible that he didn’t feel this searching, almost invasive look on himself before now. It seemed to cut deep into his bones and make all the hairs on his arm stand up but subconsciously, he knew there was nothing to be afraid of. He tried to move, to get away from this uncomfortable attention but the sudden grip of his arm made him stop in his tracks.

“Shh,” He heard the deep, low voice, which he couldn’t quite recognize. “It’s alright. You’re safe with me.”

Harry couldn’t help but shiver at the man’s voice, and at his hand which was now caressing his arm tenderly. He relaxed into the mattress. It seemed that the longer he was in this room, the more details he could make out and a deep sigh left his mouth. He wanted to say something, ask this man who he was and what they were doing here, but somehow, he couldn’t. In the second he tried to form a sentence, the words would slip away and he would become too distracted by the man’s presence. Deciding to give up, he slowly stretched out his right hand and hesitantly touched the body lying next to him. The skin, which his fingers found, was pleasantly warm and soft to touch. So, he moved his hand down, inch by inch, discovering the muscular chest of his companion. When he reached the abdomen, with his unsure palm, he heard the man take a shaky breath, laughing softly.

“You will be the death of me, Mr. Potter. I assure you.” He said and Harry felt how the man moved his own hand and intertwined his fingers with the palm laying upon his stomach. He looked down, trying to make their hands out from the darkness, but it was impossible. Instead he focused on the warmness which was slowly spreading through out his whole body.

He felt like he belonged to something, to someone for once. The feeling was so surprising and incredible that Harry felt his throat close up, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t want it to be a dream, he wanted it to be reality.

The man, probably sensing his distress, turned into his direction and never letting go of his hand, he lifted himself up on his elbow. Even though the darkness never eased, now Harry could make out his captivating dark eyes which were looking at him with something what he couldn’t quite name.

“Shh, it’s okay, Harry. I’ve got you.” The man said, smiling softly.

Harry could feel how his heart speed up and how his stomach tightened up with anticipation as the man leaned down slowly to close the distance between their lips. It was a slow and tender kiss, and Harry couldn’t get enough of the softness of the other man’s lips, nor the warmth or gentleness. It was a perfect kiss and he couldn’t stop himself from moaning, which was welcomed with a quiet chuckle.

“I could spend my whole life simply kissing you.” The man said and Harry smiled, rising his hand in order to thread it through man’s black hair. He lifted himself up to kiss him once again but before he managed to, the deafening sound of his alarm pulled him out of the dream, waking him up. Harry was left in his bed, alone and with an erection, as well as a big question: What the hell was that dream about?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes another chapter! I'm really excited because I'm getting to the best parts of this story and I can't wait to write it. I'm on holidays rn and didn't think I would have time to write, but surprise!
> 
> Big thanks to AnaTheOtherAlien for doing the amazing job as my beta.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it and please let me know, I love every one of your comment! 
> 
> xx

Harry felt a drip of sweat gather at the end of his eyebrow when he wrinkled his forehead in contemplation over his black, iron cauldron. He was trying, so hard, to make the potion right for once and its fumes were getting into his eyes, making them water. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of them and let out a self-satisfied sigh when the colour in the cauldron turned dark violet, just how it was supposed to. He didn’t know why he cared so much to make it right, all of the sudden, but it mattered to him and he was determined to reach the end without any disasters along the way. He just had to wait ten more minutes and let it stew before he could add the last ingredient.

Harry raised his head and narrowed his eyes in order to focus on the board once again, just to check out if he indeed followed all of the instructions correctly. He wasn’t sure if the blur was caused by the potion’s fumes or because his eyes were too tired from all the reading or simply because he needed stronger glasses. He was considering a visit to Madame Pomfrey for a while now, but there was always something getting in his way and he postponed it for far too long already. He promised himself to get it done during the weekend.

Harry looked down at the cauldron, noticing with satisfaction that the violet was slowly turning into blue-black. Then he detected a movement in the corner of his eye. The characteristic swirl of black robes couldn’t be mistaken for anything else and he realized that Snape decided to check upon their works. Unexpected nervousness settled inside of his stomach. He even had to wipe off his sweaty palms against his trousers when he saw that their Professor was getting closer to the Gryffindor’s part of the classroom. He knew his potion was perfect but the man could easily pick up endless number of mistakes, if only he put his mind into it. Again, he didn’t know why it mattered so much to him. Why did he want to impress the other man so much? At the end, he didn’t care for potions or Snape’s approval. At least he thought so.

Harry raised his eyes and fixed his gaze on the black figure wandering between students’ desks, simply observing the man, like he usually did when he thought no one would notice.

He felt weirdly drawn to all this darkness and intriguing mystery, but also to the carefully hidden pain and even care. He would never suspect that Snape was capable of those but Harry knew better now. He could see past his stern, Death Eater facade. For example, in the way he cared for Malfoy. Since he learnt that the two of them were family, he started to notice how deeply Snape’s protectiveness ran for him. How he would always find the time to talk to him and how his face would soften when someone mentioned him. Harry wished that one day the man would smile just the same, but at him, not the Ferret.

And where the hell did this thought come from?

“Mr. Potter.” The voice behind Harry startled him and he couldn’t help as a blush spread across his cheeks. He really hoped that Snape would think it was from the fumes and not because he was taken by surprise, especially in the moment when he was thinking super weird things about his professor.

“And what do we have here?” Snape’s hot breath caressed Harry’s earlobe when the man leaned down over his shoulder to take a look into his cauldron and Harry’s own breath hitched inside his throat at the sensation. He felt a chill travel down his spine and he had to force himself not to press back into the intoxicating warmness radiating from the man behind him. He tightened his jaw, trying to get control over his own body, which was betraying and confusing him, before he answered:

“It’s a Dreamless sleep Potion, sir.”

He knew his voice was strained and a little harsh but he really hoped that his professor wouldn’t take a notice of that.

“Surprisingly, I can see for myself.” Snape sounded stunned and Harry was almost sure he could trace a hint of amusement there too. It was the biggest complement the Gryffindor heard from the man throughout all his time spend in front of his cauldron and he felt like something very close to butterflies flutter in his stomach. He really couldn’t believe himself. What the hell was going on with him?

Snape moved behind his back to stand in front of his bench, his gaze still focused on the potion, and Harry could swear that he felt a warm hand brush against his hip. Or maybe it was just man’s robes, he couldn’t tell for sure.

“Was Miss Granger helping you?” The man asked, arching his eyebrow at the Gryffindor, his arms folded over his chest.

“No, sir. I’ve just followed the instructions.” Harry smirked self-satisfactory at his professor, gazing into his bottomless dark eyes. He felt like another chill goes down his spine at the searching, almost burning look and his heartbeat increased significantly. He could feel the blood pumping in his ears, deafening him.

“He can read, how astonishing.” Snape responded, stretching out the words with that deep voice of his and Harry had to bite down on his lower lip to stop the moan from leaving his mouth. How was it possible that he didn’t notice how… sinful Snape could sound, until now?

“I’m glad I can still manage to surprise you, sir.” Harry answered breathlessly, noticing how Snape’s gaze flickered over his lips just for a second, before it focused on his eyes once again. The young man shivered internally, not being able to look away from man’s invading, hot look. He was only half aware that they were still in the classroom, surrounded by other students. Snape stared at him intently for several long moments before turning around on his heel and walking away to another bench.

Harry breathed out, not aware that he held his breath for the whole time and tried to willingly slow down his rapidly beating heart. He didn’t imagine the tension between them, did he?

“What the hell was all of that about?” He heard a feverish whisper coming to him from his left and suddenly he remembered that they weren’t alone in Snape’s office but in the middle of a classroom.

“What do you mean? It was nothing.” He answered neutrally, adding the last ingredient into his cauldron with a slightly shaking hand. Harry decided to ignore the curious glances he received from other students. He definitely didn’t want to ruin his potion now, when Snape actually remarked on it.

“You call it nothing?” Hermione gaped at him, shaking her head in the same time. “I call bloody… weird!”

“Come on, Hermione. It’s Snape we’re talking about. He was just surprised I made my potion correctly, that’s all.” Harry responded and stirred his potion five times clockwise, before he extinguished the fire under it. He wasn’t going to let anyone see how much the man actually affected him.

“Yeah, of course.” Hermione snorted but before she could say something else, Harry was saved by the bell ringing from the corridor and breathed out with relief. For once the odds were in his favor.

 

With greater satisfaction than he was ready to admit, Severus crossed out half of an essay and wrote _dreadful_ all over it, with big, red letters. Sometimes he wondered how some students were able to finish this school. With their levels of knowledge, they could graduate the primary one at best, and even that with troubles.

He sighed internally, not being able to ignore the curious glances he received from Potter from time to time. The boy was sitting cross-legged on the couch across the room and evidently couldn’t focus on his reading, which became a norm recently.

Severus never let it show, but being a spy for as long as he was, he could always tell when someone was observing him. Especially if someone was doing it so openly. He really should give him some tips on how to behave more discreetly. However, that wasn’t the worst part. He could stand the starring alone, after all he was used to it with all his experience as a teacher.

The worst was the intensity of Potter’s looks. His gaze would wander across Severus’s skin, making all the hair on his arms stand up, almost leaving burn marks along it. It was making him feel very self-conscious and he had troubles focusing on his work. That was what irritated Severus the most. It never happened to him before that he was too distracted to work, especially not under some student’s look! If that was the case, he wouldn’t be able to oversee at least half of the detentions he assigned. He didn’t know why Potter was observing him so closely and only over his dead body, would Snape let him know that he was actually fully aware of it.

As a matter-of-fact, their working together was pretty surprising to Severus. He half-expected it to be unbearable, with the boy being noisy and arrogant, and just too Potter-ish for Severus’s liking, but it was… tolerable. Enjoyable even. Well, that one maybe when he was fighting him over during their duels, which wasn’t that obvious lately. Potter was getting stronger and he was getting stronger quickly. How much time passed since they begun? Three weeks? A month? Severus was really impressed by this young man, even if he never said anything. Potter’s behavior was also different than expected and slowly Severus was realizing that maybe, just maybe, he misjudged him. Potter was calm sometimes, even withdrawn. Too sarcastic for his own good and way too charming, without even realizing it and it made all of it much worse. If he were doing some things deliberately, then Severus would know how to react, how to respond. In this case, he was often caught off guard and that was another thing which he wasn’t familiar with. Severus didn’t want to admit that Potter was starting to fascinate him. His looks were already way too distracting and he didn’t want to delve his mind into that.

“Professor?” Severus’s train of thought was abruptly stopped when the boy spoke quietly, almost shyly.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” He answered, not bothering to look up nor stop reading yet another worthless essay.

“How are you doing it?”

Severus furrowed his brows, having no idea what the boy was talking about.

“How am I doing what?”

The boy was silent for a few seconds and Severus wondered if the courage already left him, which would be both relieving and disappointing.

“How are you so… confident?”

This made Severus look up finally and he fixed his gaze at the young man, who was looking at him curiously, the green eyes big behind his glasses.

“Confident of what?” He asked, deliberately dragging out his time to answer and giving himself a chance to put his thoughts together.

Potter shrugged softly and inclined his head to the left slightly, his gaze roving over Severus’s whole body.

“You know, everything basically. Of what we are doing here, of fighting this war.”

“You want to tell me, you don’t think it’s right to fight off the Dark Lord?” Severus raised his eyebrows so high that they almost reached his hairline.

Potter shook his head, his gaze fixed on the fire now.

“That’s not what I meant. I was thinking about Dumbledore and his approach to all of this. Aren’t you tired of being the pawn in his games?”

Severus breathed out a heavy sigh, watching how the orange-blue flames were reflecting on the boy’s glasses. He didn’t know where all of this was coming from but something in the Gryffindor’s posture made him open up and answer honestly.

“Albus saved my life.” He said quietly. “I own him that, at least that.”

Potter moved his head away from the fire and the man could see a question in those verdant eyes. He was struck by how breath-taking they really were.

“When I turned my back on the Dark Lord and came to Dumbledore, he could have easily handed me over to the authorities. I’d have been sentenced to life in Azkaban or even Kissed. Instead, he gave me a second chance. I can’t and I won’t forget that. I trust him and you should too.” Severus said, his eyes never leaving Potter’s. The young man regarded his Professor curiously, his brows furrowed in the already known manner showing that he was considering something very carefully. Severus knew that whatever was going on in that head of his, he wouldn’t like it.

“You mean, when you came to him after you had told Voldemort about the Prophecy which cost my parents’ their lives?”

The silence which fell all over the room after Potter’s question was, ironically, so loud that it rung in Severus’s ears. He blinked few times at the boy, too shocked that he knew about that to react properly. Only after few seconds, he came to his senses enough to feel how his heartbeat quickened and how sweaty his hands became. How much he didn’t want to have this conversation. How much the memory of what happened was still too raw.

They were looking at each other, neither saying anything and Severus could see something of a challenge in young man’s eyes. He would much rather prefer if Potter was angry with him, shouting the accusations, showing him that famous temper of his, instead of this cold acceptance. He didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Yes.” He said finally, his voice harsh and quiet. He craved for a glass of whiskey to wash down the aftertaste of that word down his throat. “How do you know about that?”

Potter shrugged his arms softly. “Dumbledore told me the other day. I was curious about who was that Death-Eater who ear-dropped part of he Prophecy. He made me swear I wouldn’t do anything reckless. Probably thought I would hunt you down in your office and try to choke you to death, or something like that. I’m not sure.” He chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head.

Severus titled his head slightly to the left and regarded the young man carefully.

“Did you want to?”

Potter bit his lower lip, rolling it with his teeth nervously. “I don’t know. I was too shocked at first. Couldn’t believe it, really. That would be too… ironic. After all the misery my dad caused you, you had the perfect way of revenge.” He scoffed at that, closing his eyes for a second as if the thought was too hard for him to handle.

“I didn’t...” Severus tried to answer, but was interrupted immediately.

“I know. Then I realized it was very unfair of me to think like that. You had no way of knowing that it referred to me. It could have been anyone and even if not, maybe Voldemort would have chosen Neville. I know you didn’t tell him because of my father, only because you were loyal to him back then.” Harry said, his expression serious, yet openned.

Severus starred at the young man in front of him and couldn’t believe what he just heard. However, more than anything, it hit him that during their conversation he never mentioned his mother. Never condemned him for bringing death at someone who used to be his best friend, someone who he loved dearly. There must have been some puzzlement present in his eyes because the Gryffindor spoke up again.

“Oh, of course. _Then_ I remembered about your relationship with my mother and realized you would have never put her in that kind of danger, if you knew. No matter how you felt about James. So I don’t blame you.” Potter looked him straight into his eyes, as he said those words, which were too bright, too green and too Lily’s for Severus in this moment. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand that the boy didn’t hate him. He should have. He should have hated him with every part of his soul, because if it weren’t for him, Lily would have been alive and the boy would have had a mother. And Severus wouldn’t have to feel this hatred himself.

“It’s getting late, Mr. Potter.” He spat, abruptly standing up from his chair. “You should return to your dormitory.”

“I think you should let go of that guilt too, Professor.” Potter said quietly, not moving an inch from the couch. “It’s been too long already and everything that happened was just a horrible coincidence.”

Severus scowled at him, suddenly feeling like anger was filling him up. Who the hell did the boy think he was? To tell him what to do? Maybe he needed that guilt? To keep him going, to keep him focused?

“You have no idea what I feel, Potter, and I would be grateful if you kept your thoughts to yourself. I don’t need your... touching advice.” He replied, taking two steps in the boy’s direction, towering over him. However, the only response he received, was a soft smile on Potter’s face.

“I think you do, Professor. You needed to hear it from me, because if I were in your place, it would have haunted me and I don’t think I would have ever been able to forgive myself if I didn’t hear, from someone who actually had been there, that it’s okay. It’s okay to let it go.” He strongly emphasized on the last word.

Severus turned around, his black robes fluttering behind him. He wasn’t able to stand the openness in Potter’s eyes, the forgiveness which was looming from them.

However, before he had any chance at responding, the sudden burn on his forearm made him wince in pain. He grabbed his arm, trying to will away the summon even if he knew that wasn’t possible, and cursed the Dark Lord’s timing. He transformed his face into a blank mask before he turned in Potter’s direction, all emotions long gone.

“I need to go.” Severus said coldly, greeting his teeth.

“It’s Voldemort, isn’t it?” Potter asked, glancing curiously at the covered arm.

“Yes. Go now, Potter. I don’t have much time.” He responded, taking out the wand from his pocket and flicking it to summon his cloak and the mask. When he caught it into his outstretched hand, the boy only started to gather his books and Severus growled in irritation.

“You know your way out. I need you gone before I come back.” And with those words, he ran out of the room, leaving a very confused Harry Potter behind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here comes another chapter, which is pretty important in the story and I hope I've managed to write it well enough. I've tried, at least (I hope it counts for something haha) It's a little longer that the previous ones, but not that much, only around 1000 words. I really, really hope you will like it!
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for your comments and kudos as it motivates me sooo much to write more, your feedback is amazing! Please don't stop being awesome.
> 
> Like always, big thanks to AnaTheOtherAlien for being my beta!
> 
> Enjoy it then and let me know what you think! xx

Harry sighed heavily, sweeping his hand through his jet-black hair. The page which he was currently reading almost closed due to his movement. He gazed over at the dark brown, probably oaken clock standing at the mantelpiece and growled when he made out the time.

It’s been almost three hours since Snape ran off to Voldemort and Harry had no idea why he didn’t just leave his office, like the man told him to. What was he still doing on this couch, with his books spread open? He meant to leave. He even started to gather his things and put them back into his bag, but somehow during this task the unexpected nervousness settled inside of his stomach and he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave like that, without finding out first if the man was okay. Without finding out if he actually _came back_.

Harry had no idea why he cared all of the sudden. It wasn’t as if it was Snape’s first summon, right? He has been through those way too many times already to let something happen to him. He could take care of himself. Harry knew all those things and he tried to reason with himself, but it just wouldn’t work. He couldn’t get rid of this sinking feeling filling him up whenever his thoughts focused on the fact that Snape was facing Voldemort exactly in this moment. Maybe was even tortured? What if Voldemort somehow found out that he was a spy all this time and he wouldn’t come back? What if, in fact, it was his last summon?

Harry breathed out a frustrated sigh and cursed his excessive imagination. He had to stop thinking like that because it would drive him crazy. Just a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t give a second thought to the Snape’s summons, and suddenly, he was worried about him? What had changed?

Their conversation from before unexpectedly came back to the front of his mind. He wanted to raise this topic with Snape for a while now, but there has never been a right moment until today. He meant what he had said. It took him some time to understand this, but it really wasn’t Snape’s fault per se. His parents’ death was on Wormtail and Voldemort alone. The Dark Lord would find out about the prophecy one way or the other and still it was his choice to go after Harry and not Neville. How was Snape even supposed to know that it was referring to them? He had no way of knowing what child was born at the end of July from the parents who defied Voldemort three times. The question of moral responsibility of endangering a child, any child, by handing in this information to the Dark Lord, was not Harry’s to answer. He could tell that Snape was already tormenting himself enough for all the mistakes he did. It was pretty obvious from the way he reacted, how off guard he was when Harry told him that he knew. The guilt was perfectly visible in his onyx-black eyes before he managed to hide it behind this thick wall which he built around himself. The surprising part however, was when Harry told him that he didn’t blame him and that the man should let it all go, and Snape became scarred. Which he quickly hid under the burst of anger. This only-seconds lasting fear of the possibility that he could forgive himself for what he did, that this choice didn’t define him for who he was, really startled Harry. He didn’t even realize how similar they were. At the end, he never completely let go of this guilt consuming him after Sirius’ death and what happened after that. He suspected that no matter the amount of time he spend on his therapy, there would still be times when he would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming from another nightmare, the blame too strong to handle.

A sudden bang of the door being opened with enough strength to hit the wall, pulled Harry out of his musings. He was on his legs in no time when he saw Snape stumbling into the room, leaning heavily firstly on the door and then on the wall, barely conscious.

“Professor!” He exclaimed, running over to him, his heart going off with doubled speed, but he stopped right in his tracks when the man slowly raised his head and their eyes locked.

Harry has never seen a look like that and he has seen lots of different looks in his short life. The way Cedric looked at him right before he died. The way Cedric’s father looked at him when he delivered his body to Hogwarts. The way Remus looked at him when both of them realized that Sirius died. The way Sirius looked at him right before the damn curtain swallowed his body. All of them were full of unbearable pain and regret but were also shadowed by... acceptance. They all knew that what happened was inevitable and even if in this moment the wounds were too fresh, too raw, they realized that they would handle it, somehow. Both Cedric and Sirius knew they were going to the better place, even if they were leaving their loved ones behind. Amory knew that his son died as a hero, not on his knees in front of Voldemort. Regardless how little comfort it brought, it was better than nothing. Remus knew that even if he had lost yet another best friend, he had other people who cared for him and for whom he cared in return. He had someone to live for.

Snape’s look lacked this acceptance. It was just seas and seas of pure agony which imprinted deep into Harry’s mind and soul. He was sure that this look would come back to haunt him in yet another nightmare. However, there was something else present there. Some kind of raw vulnerability which was so unusual and _bizarre_ to see in this man’s eyes, this man that was always so strong.

Harry felt the sudden overwhelming urge to run and find the man responsible for what happened to him. To find him and cause him the same kind of pain which he was seeing now in those bottomless black eyes. To make him scream while he broke bone after bone until this man wouldn’t be able to take it anymore and would choke on his own blood. The anger, rising up in Harry’s chest, was filling him up from head to toe, making his skin itch so much that he barely stopped himself from scratching it. He was way too familiar with it and he feared that one more second and he would literally burst out.

“P-Potter.” He heard Snape’s hoarse voice, barely a whisper and he clenched his hands into fists, trying to control this anger because right now it wouldn’t do either of them any good. “Y-you were s-supposed to...” The severe cough stopped him from finishing the sentence and Harry took a step closer, wanting to help him somehow, but didn’t know how. He looked over his Professor very carefully, noticing for the first time that his cloak was covered in dried up, very dark blood which dragged on through almost its whole length. Dread filled Harry up and he begged that it wasn’t Snape’s blood.

“Try not to talk, Professor.” He said with determination and grabbed Snape’s arm to steady him. “I will go for Madame Pomfrey.”

“No!” Snape exclaimed or at least tried to in his state and shook his head rapidly. “B-bed… C-cabinet...” He managed to say and Harry understood.

He grabbed his Professor’s arm more firmly and somehow they made it to the door on the opposite wall. Harry has never stepped through them before and he never suspected that his first time would be while his Professor was almost dying on his arm. At least he hoped it was _almost_. He opened the door and in front of him appeared a middle sized room with wooden door on the right, which he suspected was Snape’s bedroom. In the haze of adrenaline and fear bumping through his body, he didn’t take in a single detail and when recalling the events later, for the love of God, he couldn’t remember anything about this room.

When, breathing heavily, he finally managed to drag the unconscious now Professor to his bedroom, he very carefully laid him down onto the big, leather panel bed. It was plain and a white cream colour, with a deep-brown bedding, perfectly matching the décor of the rest of the room with its crème walls and kept in brown colour cabinets and wardrobe. If the situation was different, Harry would be very excited to try out this bed as it looked extremely comfy and inviting.

Biting his lower lip painfully, mostly to keep himself focused, he grabbed Snape’s outer cloak and lifting the man’s torso, managed to slip it off his shoulders. He threw it on the floor, next to the bed, not giving it a second glance while he was carefully looking for any sources of leaking blood in the dim light, given by two sconces hanging on the opposite sides of the bed. Fortunately, there were none. Harry breathed out with relief, barely noticing how soaked with sweat his t-shirt became.

He reached to the bedside cabinet and opened the higher drawer, frantically looking for something what Snape had in mind and by sheer luck his hand came across a vial with a salve. He had no idea what it was for or how he was supposed to administer it but he was strangely confident that it was this thing which Snape was asking for.

“Professor.” Harry whispered, delicately shaking the man’s arm and wincing when he heard a moan of pain coming from him. He didn’t want to cause him any more harm but he had to find out what he was supposed to do. The salve didn’t look familiar to anything they went through during Potions classes and he suspected it was specially made for situations like this one. “I really want to help but you have to tell me what I should do, if you won’t let me call in Madame Pomfrey.” He said desperately, trying not to let the panic colour his voice. Snape was becoming almost gray on his face now and when Harry tried to find his pulse, it was so weak that almost nonexistent.

“Professor!” He exclaimed, greeting his teeth painfully. “Please, don’t die on me. I beg you! Just...” His voice broke and after a few seconds he realized that he was on his own when there was no response. He had to figure it out or Snape would die and he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , let that happen.

Harry opened the salve and smelled it, furrowing his brows in focus. He detected asphodel, dittany as well as fluxweed and he concluded that it was a very strong healing salve, one he has never seen before. He reached to his Professor’s robe and started to undo the endless row of black buttons, his hands shaking so much that he had to stop for a second, take a deep breath and willingly try to calm himself. When he finally came to the end of the row, he pulled the robe away, carefully slipping it off Snape’s shoulders and throwing it right next to the cloak. He couldn’t help the humorless chuckle to leave him when he saw that under the robe was hidden a black long-sleeve shirt and when he lifted it up he saw a t-shirt underneath as well. He would never understand why Snape wore so many lawyers of clothes.

Harry grabbed the hems of the shirt as well as the t-shirt and gently pulled both of them over his Professor’s head, slightly breathless when they got caught up on his nose, discovering the very muscular abdomen underneath. He knew that if the circumstances were different, Snape would never let him see himself in this position.

Harry hesitated for a second before he reached to the man’s waistband and undo the button as well as a zipper and pulled down man’s trousers.

There was nothing intimate about undressing Snape, the only thought present in Harry’s mind was to help him, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how it would feel to do this under completely different circumstances. How would it feel to reveal all this white skin, layer by layer, when the man was conscious and willing? Harry shook his head. It didn’t matter now, not in the slightest. The only thing he should focus on was saving the man’s life.

When Snape’s boots, socks and trousers finally landed on the floor, Harry applied some of the salve on the man’s torso and started to rub it in in tender circles. Snape’s skin felt feverish under his fingers and surprisingly soft, but the salve was cooling it down effectively. He figured it was the right thing to do because almost immediately, Snape relaxed just slightly and although he was still unconscious, he breathed out a deep sigh.

Harry kept applying the salve on the man’s abdomen, arms and legs, working almost mechanically. From time to time he looked up to see the expression on Snape’s face, but it didn’t change except maybe the sick greyness was replaced by ghost-like whiteness. He wondered how many times the man went through this and how many times he was so close to death. The anger from before started to coil in the pit of his stomach once again.

After finishing with Snape’s feet, he gently grabbed his arm and sliding his hand beneath his back, he turned him over in one smooth motion. The revealed sight in front of him made him gasp and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

Snape’s back was littered with scars. Of course, he noticed some of them on his abdomen and arms but nothing as severe as here. All of them were different size and shape but the worst two which caught his eye dragged on from the opposite shoulder blades, intersecting through each other in the irregular shape of an x and finished right above the base of his spine. Not being able to stop himself, Harry traced their shape with his trembling finger and shivered when the unexpected memory of a belt cutting through the air filled up his mind. Uncle Vernon knew how to make a good use of his.

Shaking his head in order to get rid of the memory, he gathered some more salve onto his hand and spread it all over Snape’s back, rubbing it in carefully.

And in this exact moment, he felt it for the first time.

The gentle tremor, firstly noticeable right under Harry’s fingers and then spreading lower till he could feel it everywhere on Snape’s back. The barely detectable vibrations under man’s skin.

At first, Harry got scared that he applied the salve in the wrong way. He took away his hands quickly, noticing with surprise that they got colder immediately. Maybe the salve wasn’t supposed to go on someone’s back? Maybe he shouldn’t have administered it without consulting it with someone professional first? However, his curiosity won and he put his palms back in the same place they were before and his eyes closed almost involuntarily at the sensations.

There was something _calling_ him under Snape’s skin. Something warm, tender and… hurt? He couldn’t tell for sure so he furrowed his brows in focus and tried to reach this… thing with his hands. With his mind. He had this weird feeling that it wanted him to do so, that it was safe because Snape’s body recognized him.

When he immersed himself completely into this delicate trembling, he gasped with astonishment, surprising warmness filling up his whole body. He had no idea how it was possible, but his own magic reached out to Snape’s, writhing in all directions, spreading its golden-like stripes everywhere. The man’s core was completely different, however. Instead of gold, the stripes were forest green, devolving into brown at the ends and shimmering slightly. They were utterly beautiful.

It wasn’t until Harry stopped admiring the magic inside the man, when he felt that something was wrong. Very wrong. He let his golden strips wonder deeper into the Snape’s core, explore it, and it was then that he noticed that between the green-brown stripes were entwined deep-black ones.

Harry’s heart clenched painfully at the sight and he simply _knew_ that the man’s magic was infected. It was sick and he could feel deep down in himself how his own magic tried to reach out to the tainted stripes, help them somehow, cure them.

Voldemort had to shamelessly contaminate it with his hexes, with his Cruccios and Merlin knew what else and Harry’s hands clenched into fists involuntarily at the thought. He was only half-aware of the wetness under his eyes, too focused on how to get rid of the black stripes from this breathtaking core. He would not allow this any more. To almost destroy something so delicate, so tender and vulnerable, it was the biggest sin in Harry’s eyes in the moment. This time he let the anger spread through him willingly. He wanted this anger, he needed it.

Harry closed his eyes tighter, channeling all his fury and hatred at the black strips and his golden ones lashed out onto them immediately, enclosing them completely and untangling them from the green ones. It seemed as if Harry’s magic absorbed them and within seconds there was no sign of them anymore. Just to make sure that all of them were gone, Harry examined Snape’s core, stripe by stripe, feeling overwhelmed by its beauty when it was all clean and just _his_.

Reluctantly, he let go of Snape’s core and opened his eyes slowly, completely confused at what just happened. His heart started to beat rapidly, when the realization came upon him suddenly, that he was messing with Snape’s magic, his the most sacred thing. The panic spread through him hastily and he quickly turned the man on his back again, begging inwardly that he was fine. What if, instead of healing him, he destroyed the man’s magic?

However, Snape was sleeping peacefully, his breaths even and steady and Harry felt like relief washes over him. He couldn’t take his eyes off man’s calm face. The wrinkles, which were usually present there, faded away and he looked at least ten years younger. Harry smiled delicately at the sight in front of him, feeling the surprising tenderness in his chest. He reached out and brushed off man’s black hair from his forehead, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. He expected them to be greasy but in reality they were thick and silky.

Harry exhaled deeply, suddenly feeling the weariness fill him up and he could barely keep himself on his legs. He eyed the other side of the bed which was way too alluring for him to decline and he walked around the bed, letting himself to fall on it, completely exhausted. He promised to himself that he would only close his eyes for a few minutes before the sleep took him.

 

The ray of sunshine danced across Harry’s skin and he smiled sleepily to himself at its warmness. He felt content and comfortable, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. When he realized, that he slept the whole night without any nightmares, he opened his eyes, surprised.

The unknown room emerged in front of him and Harry had to blink a few times, trying to recall the events from the last night.

He spent the evening with Snape, reading, and then they talked, and then Snape got summoned... Harry sat up abruptly, turning his head to the right when the memories of the rest of the night came to his mind. He breathed out with relief when he noticed that the man was still sound asleep and when his heart calmed down a little, he couldn’t help a small smile appear on his lips. He suspected that not too many people saw this infamous man in such a position and even though Snape didn’t know that Harry was there, he still felt kind of honored. At least, until the man moved and opened his eyes reluctantly, meeting the very green and panicked ones.

When Snape realized who was lying next to him, he jumped away from the Gryffindor immediately, clearly surprised at the sight.

“What the hell are you doing here, Potter?! In my bed?!” He asked loudly, his voice still hoarse from the remains of sleep.

Harry blinked at him, panic spreading through his whole body, not quite sure how to respond, too stunned by the situation.

“I...” He cleared his throat. “You came back from Voldemort and I didn’t know what to do! So I applied your salve.” The Gryffindor gestured toward the vial standing on the bedside cabinet. “You were unconscious and I was worried and...” He stopped abruptly, not sure how to continue. How do you tell someone that you were playing with their magic core? He suspected it wasn’t something ordinary to simply do everyday, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he quickly lowered his legs onto the soft carpet, which he didn’t notice the night before and got up from the bed.

“I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by mistake.” Harry said, biting his lower lip nervously. He regretted that he didn’t wake up earlier so he could have left before the man had a chance to notice him.

Snape regarded him carefully, his brows furrowed as if he was thinking deeply. Then he lifted the bed cover, which Harry laid on him right before he drifted off to sleep, and his expression got even more suspicious.

“How is it possible...” He started, his gaze coming back to Harry’s. “That I feel so… good?” He asked, his voice full of true surprise.

The boy knew that he had to blush profusely because Snape arched his brow at him, his look piercing.

“What did you do, Potter?” He spat, covering himself with the bedding almost up to his neck.

When Harry realized what his professor was thinking, he shook his head abruptly and chuckled softly.

“I didn’t touch you, Professor. At least not in the way you think. Well, actually I had to touch you to apply the salve. I thought you wouldn’t mind, given that I saved your life.”

“You didn’t save my life, Potter!” Snape barked out. “The… effects would have wore off eventually. I can only apply the salve myself in the morning and as you could see in the previous years, I was alive and kicking.”

It was Harry’s time to furrow his brows because he just didn’t understand. So what were all those black strands in Snape’s magical core? Why did his magic react the way it did?

“But...” He said, confusion clearly present on his face.

“What did you _do_ , Potter?” Snape asked once again, his voice becoming hard and threatening, guessing that there was something that the boy wasn’t telling him.

Harry didn’t want to answer but finally, under the man’s unyielding gaze he broke, rolling his bottom lip with his teeth nervously.

“I might or might not have healed your magical core?” He said quietly, which sounded more like a question than answer and winced when the man exclaimed loudly.

“What?! You touched my magic?!” Snape was out of the bed in no time at all and Harry found himself taking a step back from the man. He just knew it would end up like this.

“Well, yeah.” He answered sheepishly, not sure as how to behave. He would gladly just leave this lion’s hem but he suspected that Snape wouldn’t let him just leave like that.

“How…?!” Snape stopped in his tracks, looking at Harry with wide-eyes, shock present in his whole posture. “That’s not possible.” He said sternly, folding his arms across his chest. “You must have dreamed that, Potter.”

Harry shrugged his arms softly, not surprised that the man didn’t want to believe him. If someone told him something like that, he was pretty confident he wouldn’t believe himself.

“It’s true.” He said simply. “I can’t really explain how it happened. I just... felt it calling to me and then...” He shrugged again. “I just… felt it. Its colour and how the curses entwined into it. My magic removed them.” Harry looked away from Snape’s piercing eyes, realizing that when he said it out loud it sounded almost insane. But he didn’t just _imagine_ it, did he? It happened for real.

The silence fell all over the room and when Snape didn’t respond, Harry reluctantly looked at him again. The man got a step closer what Harry didn’t notice before and was observing the Gryffindor very carefully, his eyes raking over him as if he was trying to imprint the image inside his mind. Harry felt the sudden gooseflesh appear on his arms under this searching look and his heartbeat quickened, beating so loudly in his chest that he was sure that Snape could hear it too. When the man finally spat “Get out, Potter,” he gladly obeyed, flying from the room as fast as he could.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank you all for amazing comments and kudos! I'm so thrilled by your response to this story as it motives me so much to write more! 
> 
> Here comes another chapter, I know it's been awhile but my holidays are coming to an end and I'm so happy to tell you that I'm taking double major what will probably mean less time to write but I'm so excited nevertheless.
> 
> Big thanks to AnaTheOtherAlien for being the amazing beta, as always!
> 
> Enjoy then and let me know what you think! xx

Draco was sitting at the square table in the back of the room, as far away from the entrance as possible. He hated that when he was too close to the heavy-wooden door, the wind would blow over him and freeze him to the bone whenever someone came in. The mere thought was already making him shiver. He hated autumn and this year it came so unexpectedly that he didn’t even have a chance to prepare himself properly.

It was only the second weekend of October and their first Hogsmeade weekend when the temperature dropped significantly, accompanied by the cold rain pouring down from dark, heavy clouds and sneaking behind students’ collars like slick tentacles of the Giant Squid.

Somehow, Draco managed to get rid of his “bodyguards” and was enjoying his solitude in the warm embrace of way too crowded Three Broomsticks. His back was to the wall, what enabled him to observe everyone who was in the Inn without worrying that people were paying too much attention to him. Of course, from time to time he would attract some curious looks, but quickly the prying eyes would focus back on their companions, regardless if it was just a drink or another student.

Draco suspected that most of the people would feel pretty vulnerable, sitting alone in the crowded pub like that, fidgeting in their seats, and not quite sure what to do with their hands. However, he never felt this way. He was always self-confident, maybe even too confident. He knew that the appropriate term was “arrogant”, but he hated how this word sounded in his ears, especially that he never understood why someone would be ashamed of it. Wasn’t self-confidence a good thing? Why would people bring themselves down on purpose? Was it out of fear what others thought of them?

The door opened yet again and Draco saw how a tall figure comes inside, shaking off a completely wet hood from his blond hair which, thanks to the wind, was disheveled in all directions. The newcomer shook his head rapidly, sending the droplets of water everywhere and Draco couldn’t help but smile at the view. Strangely, it reminded him of Diya, the Labrador Retriever they once had, shaking her fur when she would come back from playing outside, on their never-ending lands. It would drive his mother crazy, but to the three years old Draco that was the most adorable thing ever.

His smile faltered, however, when the young man raised his head and with dread Draco realized that it was the one and only Neville Longbottom. The Slytherin squinted his eyes, making sure that he wasn’t mistaken, but unfortunately no. He had no idea how it was possible but it really was Neville that Draco thought adorable just seconds ago. The weather had to affect him more than he expected. Maybe he got his brain frozen off.

Without even realizing it, Draco kept his eyes focused on the blonde as he walked up to to the bar, greeting a few people on his way. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it seemed that the Gryffindor was liked by others, respected even. He always thought that people considered him stupid, given by his poor performance in classes, but seeing him now, exchanging the hands shakes and pats on the back, it was clear to him that that wasn’t the case. In fact, when given some thought to it, Draco realized that in the previous years Neville was failing only in Potions. In other subjects he was at least average, not to mention Herbology, which he excelled in.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw how the boy ordered something from the bartender, resting his elbow on the counter as well as one of his foot on the pole beneath it. He seemed relaxed and something in his posture was so captivating that Draco couldn’t take his eyes off him. He wasn’t sure what exactly that could be, at the end the Gryffindor wasn’t standing out too much, just another blonde boy in the sea of others students, nothing extra ordinary.

Suddenly, as if Neville felt that Draco was staring at him, he turned over abruptly and their eyes locked. Caught by surprise, Draco didn’t manage to drop his head quickly enough and he knew that the Gryffindor saw him. He felt how the embarrassment heated his pale cheeks with the bright pink colour, and he prayed that the boy didn’t notice that. In that moment, he was very grateful for his butterbeer, because he could at least pretend how interesting that was. Maybe Neville would think that he got mistaken and Draco wasn’t really looking at him. One could hope.

With his heart beating much faster than he cared to admit, he lifted his eyes over the butterbeer, daring to take one more peek at the boy, but dived back in immediately. Not only Neville was already walking in between the tables with the butterbeer of his own, but he was heading into Draco’s direction! Feeling the panic quickly spread through him, Draco gritted his teeth, ordering himself to stay calm. He would not let himself to be shaken by some Gryffindor boy! The Longbottom one in particular! He was a Malfoy after all. He despised that kind of behavior, not to mention he didn’t even have a reason to feel like this. At the end, it wasn’t that abnormal that he was looking at someone. Especially in a place full of people. If Neville wanted to confront him, he would only make a fool of himself.

With that thought put firmly in mind, he didn’t dare to look up again, at least not until he heard the familiar voice.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Neville asked, his voice surprisingly rich, sending shivers down Draco’s spine. “It’s completely full today.” He added as if it explained why he chose Draco’s table out of the at least five different ones with his Gryffindor friends sitting by them.

After a second-lasting hesitation, Draco shook his head and answered.

“No, it’s free.”

Neville smiled at him with gratitude and sank at the unoccupied chair opposite to Draco, putting his drink on the table.

“Thanks.”

The Slytherin shrugged his arms without saying anything and awkwardly took a sip, wondering why the hell he felt so weird around the other boy all of the sudden. He could feel Neville’s curious look at him and, probably for the very first time in his life, he felt nervous under someone’s gaze. He fidgeted in his seat, looking around and with surprise, he noticed that almost everyone in the Inn was giving them intrigued looks. At the end, it didn’t happen every day that the Gryffindors would willingly choose to interact with the Slytherins. Especially this one, who he was believed to have an open war with.

“Ignore them.” Neville spoke, the corners of his lips arching upwards. “Bunch of gossip-hungry folks. Harmless, mostly. At least until they make your life so miserable that you can’t believe you have ever described them as harmless.”

Draco couldn’t help but snort at Neville’s words. It was true, indeed, and he suspected that everyone in this school happened to be in that kind of situation at least once.

“Although, I’m not sure what would bring them greater joy: seeing us actually interacting with each other or you turning me down.” Neville said cheekily, raising up his eyebrows and looking at Draco with a shadow of smile present on his lips.

Suddenly, Draco felt like some kind of tension leaves his body and he smiled back, leaning back on his chair.

“The thought crossed my mind, if you must know.”

Neville laughed, with this deep laugh of his, and Draco did his best to ignore another shiver going down his spine. He did _not_ find him attractive. Nor his laugh.

“Oh, believe me. I know.” The Gryffindor answered, the corners of his lips lifted up in a teasing smile. Malfoy rolled his eyes and took another sip from his glass. He was very thirsty all of the sudden.

“So… you alone here?” Neville asked, rising one of his eyebrows at Draco.

“Yeah. Crabbe and Goyle got lost in Honeydukes, I guess. Or maybe it was in Zonko’s? I’m not entirely sure.” Draco answered, shrugging his arms nonchalantly.

“It’s weird to see you without them, when you’re almost glued to each other all the time.” Neville said, looking at him curiously.

“We’re _not_ glued to each other.” Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. “At least not worse than The Golden Trio. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Potter without Granger or Weasley. That’s really ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well... Not any more, I guess. With Hermione and Ron dating I would feel pretty left out if I were Harry.” Neville shrugged his arms, running his hand through his blond locks. The motion left them even more messy that they were before and Draco felt strangely compelled to run his own hand through them and try to straighten them up. He wondered if they would feel as soft under his fingers, as they looked.

“He has enough fans on his own to not feel left out.” He answered, not being able to stop himself from adding a little bit of malice into his voice.

Neville regarded him carefully, not saying anything for a few long seconds, before he spoke up:

“You realize that if you saw past all this stupid Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry, you could be really useful to each other, right?”

Draco scoffed at that, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And in what way would Potter be of use to me? If I needed someone to grand me privileges with Dumbledore or the Ministry, I would talk to my father. The Malfoys are respected enough to not need the Golden Boy’s approval.”

“Especially when this war ends.” Neville pointed out calmly.

The Slytherin gritted his teeth, feeling a spark of anger inside his chest.

“Are you insinuating something, Longbottom? You know nothing about me or about my father.”

“It’s no secret that he is connected to You-Know-Who.” Neville shrugged his arms. “I’m not insinuating anything. Just saying that having allies on both sides of the war would be very Slytherin of you, wouldn’t it?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but before he got a chance, Nevilled continued:

“But, at the end, you _will_ have to choose, no matter if you want it or not. You’re too closely involved in all of this already, especially with your father’s reputation and you being Dumbledore’s trainee. Both of them will try to persuade you to join one of them and you will be caught in crossfire.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Draco frowned, wondering why the hell they were having this conversation. “You think I don’t know it? You think I didn’t play ten thousand different scenarios in my head already? I’m not stupid, Longbottom and I can take care of myself. What’s your business in all of that, anyway?”

Neville bit the inside of his cheek in the already known to Draco manner, showing that he was thinking about the answer.

“I just… we’ve been classmates for already more than six years and now that we work together, I can’t just stand by and watch how you get consumed by You-Know-Who if I can do something to prevent it, you know? You can trust me and you can trust Harry. Your choice doesn’t have to be limited between Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. One of the lesser evils in your eyes.”

Draco blinked at him, dumbstruck at the way this conversation turned. Was Neville offering him an alliance? Behind Dumbledore’s back? With Potter? Probably sensing his confusion, Neville added quickly:

“Of course, Harry _is_ working with Dumbledore. They both want to see You-Know-Who dead and Harry doesn’t have too much choice in this matter, given Dumbledore’s experience and power, but you do. On your own terms, without being reduced to being a pawn in either Headmaster’s or You-Know-Who’s hands. As equals.”

Draco rose his eyebrows so high that they almost reached his hairline, shaking his head with disbelief. He would lie if he said that Neville’s offer wasn’t appealing to him at least to some level but he couldn’t exactly wrap his mind around the idea.

“I’m Dumbledore’s trainee. I have to do what he tells me to. I’d still be “his pawn”, as you so nicely put it, no matter if I chose Potter’s side.”

“It’s not about sides, Draco. It’s about doing what’s right.”

The Slytherin decided to ignore the shiver which went down his spine at the way his name rolled down Neville’s tongue when he said it for the very first time and asked:

 

 

“So you don’t think what Dumbledore is doing is right?”

Neville laughed under his breath, but it was a humorless, bitter chuckle which, strangely, made all the hair on Draco’s arms stand up.

“The end doesn’t justify the means. I won’t go into details because it’s not my story to tell but believe me when I say that Dumbledore isn’t such a goody-goody as he wants everyone to believe.”

“I can’t just quit the training! Honestly, I don’t know what you’re asking of me, Longbottom.”

“I just want you to know that you have other options. Think it over, sleep on it. Remember that no matter what Dumbledore does, everything will be up to Harry at the end.”

“What makes you so bloody sure that he’s going to win, anyway? He stands no chance against any of the Death Eaters, not to mention the Dark Lord himself.” Draco said, a little annoyed by this unnerving confidence in other boy’s voice.

“Doesn’t he? Then how would you explain all those times he survived when everyone of us would be dead within five seconds? Don’t tell me that you really think he’s going to lose. In this case, you wouldn’t have been helping us already. You want us to win.” Neville stated strongly, rising his eyebrows at Draco. The boldness in his tone irked something deep down in the Slytherin. Almost as if Neville believed there was something more to Draco than he let on and he couldn’t stand it. Somehow, he felt more vulnerable around him than with anyone else and he hated that. He hated that the boy could see right through him and, what was even worse, seemed to believe that there was goodness inside of him. He much more preferred if people thought of him only as a spoiled, rich brat because this way they didn’t expect too much of him and they never saw what was coming to them.

“You have no clue what I want, Longottom.” Draco scorned at him. “I might as well gather information, find out what you’re planning and then hand it all to the Dark Lord. And you wouldn’t have a single clue.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that, Malfoy. To start with, you wouldn’t be talking about that so freely, if you did plan it. Why do you want everyone so desperately to believe that you don’t care? I can see how much effort you put into our research. It can’t be only because Dumbledore told you to. You’re not fooling me. You care about this war and you care for Harry to win it. Just admit it, it won’t hurt your pride.” Neville answered so bloody confident and _calm_ that Draco’s blood boiled inside of him. Who the hell did this Gryffindor think he was to tell him what he felt? What he thought? And how was it possible that Neville, out of everyone, was able to get under his skin?

“I don’t. I don’t give a shit about this war or about Potter. I only care for my family. But you wouldn’t understand it, would you? From what I gathered you don’t have much left of it.”

The second Draco said the words, he knew he had crossed the unspoken line. The way Neville’s look hardened and how his fists clenched almost on their own accord, made it clear that he went way beyond his limits. The hurt and anger was perfectly visible in those ocean-blue eyes and Draco wished he could have stopped himself before he lashed out like that.

“You really are a bastard, Malfoy.” Neville said, before he got up, his chair scratching loudly on the stone floor. “And here I wondered why Harry despises you so much.” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Longbottom, I...” Draco hesitated, not quite sure why he cared to explain himself to the other boy. He never felt the need to do so before, and he insulted way more people than he could count. Was it because Longbottom offered him alliance and was trying to reach out to him? Or was it because of something completely different?

“Save it, Malfoy. I really had to have a moment of insanity if I thought there’s something more to you than you let people see. Thank you for proving me wrong. Now I will be able to sleep at night knowing that people really don’t change.”

With these words, he turned around on his heel and marched out of the Inn, without as much as a glance at people who were watching him curiously. The second the doors closed behind him, the whispers broke off with new ferocity, making Draco tighten his jaw painfully. He rose from his chair and left the Three Broomsticks as quickly as he could without raising any suspicions, doing his best to ignore the feeling of burning guilt and disappointment spread through his chest.

 

 

“Hey Harry!”

The boy saw the waving hand of his best friend and couldn’t help but smile at the view. He stopped by the display window and waited for Ron and Hermione to catch up with him.

“We thought you had a training with Snape?” The girl asked, raising his eyebrows at him when they were finally within the range of normal conversation volume.

“Oh yeah. I thought the same, but then he send me a message saying that he had another appointment and postponed it on after dinner tonight.” Harry shrugged. “He probably didn’t remember it was the Hogsmeade weekend because otherwise, he wouldn’t let me _enjoy_ something, would he?” The complaint was clearly present in his voice even if the boy tried really hard to make it sound natural.

Since that evening when he made a very bad decision of looking into Snape’s magical core, everything went downhill. Harry felt like on every step forward, which they managed to take throughout his training, they did at least two backwards in only one week time. The man was back to insulting him on every occasion he got, taking points from him (not like it really mattered, but one couldn’t help from being annoyed if they lost fifty points during just one lesson) and being just so utterly mean and nasty that Harry couldn’t believe that he let himself think even for one second that the man could be different.

He really wished he could go back in time and refrain from doing what he did, even if that meant leaving Snape in pain. The bastard deserved it, all right. At least nothing would have changed. Harry knew that he wasn’t completely honest with himself, because no matter how much the man… hurt him, he would never be able to just let him suffer. He wouldn’t be able to look himself in the eyes if he did. Still, only over his dead body, would he let anyone see how much Snape’s current behavior affected him. He didn’t even want to admit it in front of himself. In fact, he wasn’t even sure why he felt like that. Of course, the time they spent together, and the things which, even unintentionally, they shared, brought them closer, but Snape’s behavior, especially public one, wasn’t that much different than before. What was annoying him the most, was man’s attitude when they were alone. He was just so bloody… cold and unapproachable, and Harry couldn’t understand it because how a man with such a breath-taking core could be so… evil? That was so unfair and felt so personal to Harry, that he had trouble with keeping his temper at check when he was around Snape. His anger was really a big issue lately and he needed to talk to Nail about that, but the man canceled on him their usual Thursday meeting and Harry was slowly spinning out of control.

“Ground to Harry!” Ron waved a hand in front of his face and Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

“Sorry.” He muttered under his breath.

“You seem very distracted lately. Did something happen?” Hermione asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently.

“No. I’m fine.” Harry answered and when the girl looked at him sceptically, he added. “Really, Hermione. Don’t worry. I was just thinking about Malfoy.” The lie left his lips smoothly.

“I don’t understand why Neville or you want to give him a chance. This ferret doesn’t deserve it.” Ron burst out, when they started to walk down the road.

“Ron!” Hermione smacked him on his arm, outraged. “Don’t say things like that! Everyone deserves a second chance! Besides, except being a complete jerk, Malfoy has never done anything so horrible to not deserve it. He doesn’t even have the Dark Mark.”

“Doesn’t he? How can you be so sure of it?” Ron raised his eyebrows at her. “For all we know, he could already be a faithful servant to You-Know-Who.”

“I trust Neville. If he says that there’s still a chance for Draco, then there has to be.” Harry interjected. “And I wouldn’t mind having Draco on my side. He could be very useful in a long run, with these kind of contacts which he has.”

“Do you think that Dumbledore won’t notice that you are gathering you own alliances right under his nose?”

Harry gave Ron a devious smile, mischief present in his whole posture.

“He won’t. He doesn’t realize that I know what I know. He doesn’t expect me to do that kind of thing, especially that I’ve never shown any signs of… mischief towards him. Plus, I’m still going to at least try to defeat Voldemort, aren’t I? I’m still willing to go through whatever the ritual he throws at me. I’m just so sick of the way he treats all of us and I don’t want to be the mindless pawn in his hands anymore. I need to have people who will be loyal to me and to me only, in case he tries to control or manipulate me in some other way. I need to have a backup.”

“I still can’t believe he knew what was going on at the Dursleys.” Hermione whispered, shaking her head with disbelief. “What kind of man would let something like that happen?”

Harry sighed heavily and shrugged his arms.

“I don’t know. He wanted the broken Boy-Who-Lived to stay broken so he could steer me into whatever direction he wished to, I guess. He wanted me to treat him like some kind of savior so I would own him and felt obliged to follow him. Only, he made a mistake and I found out. I won’t let him have that advantage over me yet again.”

“Of course not and even if you did, we will hex you into reason quickly enough.” Ron patted him on his back reassuringly and Harry couldn’t help but smile warmly at him.

“Thanks, Ron. I really appreciate it.”

“So do you think...” The redhead cut abruptly, stopping dead in his tracks. “Hey, is that Snape?” He asked with surprise, gazing at the figure on the opposite side of the road. The man was standing with his back to them, looking at something at the shop’s display. He had a black jacket thrown over his shoulders, which was fluttering slightly on the wind just like his neck length hair.

“I guess so.” Hermione answered, squinting her eyes. “Why are you so surprised? He has the same right to be here as any of us.”

Before Ron could have answered, the door, which Snape was standing by, opened and the brown-haired woman walked outside of the shop, saying something to the man. Completely speechless, the Trio watched how their Professor laughed wholeheartedly at whatever the woman said and at how she slipped her arm around the man’s shoulder, clearly chummy with him.

The blood in Harry’s veins boiled at the sight in front of him. So Snape canceled their training only because he had a _date_ ? A fucking date? That was bloody ridiculous. And in what way was this woman so different from Harry that Snape treated her so… _special_?

“Oh my God. Did you see that?” Ron gasped with astonishment. “He just laughed. Snape laughed. And he is walking arm in arm with some woman. Has the universe just stopped spinning? Do you think this is his girlfriend? A _wife_?”

Harry couldn’t help but growl, his hands clenching into fists painfully. He hated Ron right now, for stating the obvious and saying his own thoughts out loud.

He felt so bloody betrayed by the other man’s behavior all of the sudden because it proved that maybe he really wasn’t that bad as he let him think. Maybe he was just _acting_ like that toward Harry and the boy didn’t understand what exactly had he done to deserve such a horrible treatment?! It wasn’t Harry’s fault that his father was a bastard to Snape! Or that his mother chose him over the other man! He barely even _knew_ his parents at all! So why would Snape be such a snarky bastard to him? Harry couldn’t wrap his mind around it and the view of Snape being so… intimate with some woman just added more oil into the fire.

Was it jealousy that he felt? This burning feeling filling him up from head to toe, making him shiver? But why would Harry be jealous of her? Was it because she had that kind of attention which he craved from the man? Because he respected her? Or maybe because he let her be so close to him, without worrying that everyone could see them, something what Harry had no idea how to achieve? Why, all of the sudden, did Harry want to be close to the man? Was it because of this bloody core? He had no idea and the sudden flow of so many different emotions going through him, made his head spin. He had to get the hell out of there. He had to find some calm place and think everything over because he had no clue what was going on with him.

“Harry!” He heard a surprised shout from behind, when he turned around abruptly and started to walk back into the Hogwarts’ direction. “Hey! Wait for us!”

He didn’t stop to check where his friends were, too busy trying to get rid of the burning memory of Snape smiling broadly at the brown-haired woman and her smiling back just the same.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here comes another chapter! I was super excited to write it and I'm even more excited to post it! It was pretty tough to write, though, required a lot of checking and polishing but I have to say I'm pretty happy about the outcome. Hope you will be too! I can't wait to hear your opinions and I'd love to thank you very much for every comment and kudo, it means the world to me, really!
> 
> P.S Please see the notes at the end of the chapter.

Harry was standing in front of Snape’s office, clearing his mind and getting a grip over his emotions. He forced himself to level out his breathing, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he knocked at the door. He was calm and focused, at least until he stepped through the doorstep.

“Legilimens!” Snape’s spell hit him completely off guard and although his mental shields were up, the man managed to break through them, breaking into Harry’s mind painfully. He clenched his teeth, throwing Snape out with difficulty and then nailed him with his burning, angry stare.

“What the hell was that?” Harry hissed, letting his bag to fall to the floor with a loud thud. “We agreed that I can use the Pensive before we start.”

Snape rose his eyebrows at him, an ugly smirk present on his lips.

“You won’t last even five seconds when you face the Dark Lord, Potter, if you can protect yourself only when you expect the attack.” He said, his voice cold and scornful. “I let you indulge yourself for far too long.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head with disbelief. He tried very hard to hide the panic which was spreading through his chest at Snape’s words, but seeing a satisfied sneer on the man’s face, he realized that he failed in this task.

“You can’t do that.” Harry said finally, barely keeping the anger out of his voice. “I won’t let you...”

“You have no say in this, boy.” Snape cut him off immediately.

“Don’t I? I could just walk out from here...”

The whiz of Snape’s wand interrupted him mid sentence and the unmistakable sound of lock closing up could be heard in the room. The man locked them inside, his gaze boring into Harry’s eyes, the challenge clearly present there.

The Gryffindor clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms painfully. He was almost sure that the man did it on purpose, to evoke the carefully hidden memories from the depths of his mind. At the end, he saw some glimpses of Uncle Vernon closing him up either in his former bedroom or in the cupboard.

“What? Are you scared, Potter? You just have to defeat me and you’re free to go.” Snape was suddenly two steps closer, looking down at the younger man, his lips slightly parted and his eyes burning, piercing through Harry’s with strange intensity.

“Or maybe you’re too weak to do this. Maybe you’re arrogant enough to think that your presence alone will be enough to defeat the Dark Lord. That he will drop dead the second he sees the Golden Boy, and you will be the hero, just like you always wanted.” Snape’s voice was barely above whisper, filled with animosity, and every single word which left the man’s lips added more fuel to Harry’s anger. He took a step closer, looking his professor straight in the eyes. They were standing almost chest to chest now and despite everything, he could feel the characteristic scent of the man, surrounding him from every direction, making his senses way too aware of the closeness of their bodies.

“I’ve never wanted this.” Harry hissed. “And I’m not weak. You don’t know shit about me, Snape. You think I can’t defeat you? Then cut the bullshit and face me like a man and not like some coward. Didn’t your father teach you how to duel properly?” He rose his eyebrows at the other man in a fake curiosity and then smirked. “Oh, I forgot. Your father was a muggle and he hated you with every fiber of his soul.”

Suddenly Snape’s hand was around Harry’s neck and he found himself pinned to the opposite wall, his back hitting the stone surface painfully.

“Say one more thing about my father, Potter, and I will make your life a living hell. Do you think that _Cruccio_ is painful? Wait till you try one of my potions. It will make you wish you’ve never been _born_.” Snape’s hot breath lingered on Harry’s skin, making him shiver, but he wasn’t sure if it was caused by their closeness, anger or fear. Snape’s grip wasn’t strong enough to choke him but Harry knew that the man could feel his racing pulse under his fingers.

“Oh, believe me, Professor. I’ve wished that. There’s nothing you can do to me that I haven’t been through already.” The lack of air was making his voice rough and strained, and the second he said these words, he already wished he didn’t. Challenging Snape when the man was obviously furious with him? Not a good idea.

“Really, Potter? I hardly believe that. What can you know about pain when everyone kisses the ground under your feet? Are you so arrogant to think that you’ve already seen everything?” Snape scoffed at him, his eyes incisive and cold. “You really are your father. He was as vain and pretentious as you are. I despise you.”

With one smooth motion, which he learnt during his self-defense phase, Harry grabbed Snape’s hand and turned them over so that it was him who was pinning the other man to the wall. He smirked self-satisfactory at his Professor’s surprised expression and leaned in, his lips almost touching Snape’s ear.

“The feeling is mutual.” Harry said in a low voice, only now noticing that he was hot all over. The anger which he previously felt turned into something dark and luring, sticking to his skin like sweat-soaked t-shirt. Barely realizing what he was doing, he moved his hips just slightly, slipping his knee between Snape’s legs, bringing them even closer. He wasn’t sure if the shiver he felt was his or the other man’s, but he couldn’t care less. Snape would learn his lesson and would start to respect him. Harry would make sure of that, even if that were the last thing he ever did.

But then Snape put his hand into his pocket so fast that Harry didn’t have a chance to react properly and the spell hit him, sending him across the room, where he hit the bookshelf, the blow squeezing all the air out from his lungs. He landed on the floor, gasping, his back and head throbbing painfully.

“You stand no chance against me, Potter.” Snape said scornfully, walking over and looking down at Harry, his gaze so cold it could freeze the hottest fire.

The boy got to his feet as fast as he could, ignoring the dizziness which blurred his view for a few seconds, and pulled out his wand, aiming it at his Professor. Snape wanted a duel? Then he would get a duel.

Their fight was like no other they have ever had. Both of them put as much determination, anger and power, as they could master and the result was way beyond expectations. Only after few minutes, the room looked like the hurricane passed through it, with shredded books laying on the floor, shattered vials and flasks everywhere and the furniture either overturned or damaged. However, they were far too gone in their anger to notice any of that, making the walls shake and windows rattle with the force of their spells. Harry had never imagined that he was capable of such fury, filling him from head to toes, making his blood boil inside of him and inuring him to the tiredness, pain and total destruction which they were causing. He was like a man in the trance, casting spell after spell, trying to predict Snape’s next move, solely focused on crushing him. The added anger and hurt he felt during these few past days didn’t help him to come to his senses. If he had some sanity left inside of him, he would probably notice that his whole skin became so hot to touch that it was almost burning, that his heart was beating rapidly inside of his chest, pumping the heated blood through his ears, deafening him and that he was shaking with unbelievable rage, his power barely under control.

They were circling around each other now, their gazes locked, wands drawn in steady hands, ready to attack any moment. Harry was breathing hard, trying to blink away the sweat which was dripping from his forehead into his eyes, barely aware how tensed his whole body was.

“Such a weak boy.” Snape hissed, his expression twisted in a scowl, making him look even more horrid than he usually was. “You can’t defeat me. You can’t defeat anyone. You will die just like your coward father and godfather, begging for mercy, squirming in your own piss. You’re useless.”

“Shut up, Snape.” Harry spat, his left hand clenching into fist almost involuntary. His attempt to calm himself down by focusing on pain coming from digging his nails into his palm failed miserably, and he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ hold back anymore.

“You will watch everyone die around you and all of them will blame you. Do you think that because you’re only seventeen, they will go easy on you? Oh no, boy. They will crucify you, but that won’t be the worst. The worst will be the guilt you will feel yourself. It will consume you from the inside out, knowing that you could have prevented that if only you weren’t _that_ weak.” Snape’s words, one by one, were stabbing Harry right into his chest, making his heart clench with sorrow and fury, because the man had no right to speak like that. He knew nothing. Harry wouldn’t let himself believe in what he was saying, because he was everything but not _weak_.

“I said, shut up!” He shouted, gripping his wand tighter with a sweaty hand. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re just a slimy Death-Eater on his knees in front of Voldemort, kissing his nasty feet and cherishing every scrap he throws you from the table. You crawl in front of him, too spineless to stand up against him. You call yourself a spy? It’s convenient for you because this way you don’t have to make any decision and expose yourself. You’re pathetic.” Harry eyed him up and down, his look filled with hatred and disdain.

Snape bared his teeth angrily, his eyes thunderous and horrifying. In another second, he waved his hand and a hex flew toward Harry, which he fought off almost effortlessly. The younger man sneered at his professor and returned the attack immediately.

The fight began anew, even more fierce and stubborn than before and if either of man was getting tired, none of them showed it. They wouldn’t let their opponent to see that slowly they were becoming exhausted.

“You--” Snape’s curse flew towards Harry “--are a failure, Potter.” He threw another powerful hex, forcing Harry to take a step back. “You’re a _freak_.”

This last word, leaving Snape’s mouth like a hiss of a snake, pushed Harry over the edge. He would never let anyone call him like that again. Ever.

In the same moment, something broke inside of him. The burning power flood his whole body, wave after wave, so much that he wasn’t sure if it was still blood pumping through his veins or pure fire. He couldn’t breathe, he could just scream, trying to let it all out somehow, before it would tear him apart, right from inside, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of him, just this consuming heat.

“Enough!” The scream formed into a word and the blast of power which burst out of him made the windows explode, scattering the glass all over the room with a loud shatter. The shock wave hit Snape right into the chest, throwing him away with a full force, right into the opposite wall. The crash ringed loudly in Harry’s ears, when the man sunk onto the floor, lifeless like a marionette. For a one, very long second, which couldn’t last longer than a singular heart-beat, Harry stood frozen, too shocked to move. But then, the realization hit him hard and the boy ran over to his Professor, terrified. He grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him forcefully.

“Snape! Snape for fuck’s sake! Come on, wake up!”

Harry knew he was panicking, not understanding what the hell was going on. His previous rage was completely gone, as if the blast absorbed it all, and everything he was left with was bloodcurdling fear that he killed the man.

“Fuck.” He murmured under his breath, putting his head into his hands and pulling on his hair painfully. He needed to focus.

Harry put his trembling hand on the man’s neck, trying to feel out the pulse. During the first few seconds, when he couldn’t find it, the horror washed over him, clenching his heart painfully. He could barely breathe from dread. But then, he moved his palm slightly to the right and there it was. The delicate pumping of the flowing blood, the key of life, still simmering in the man. The relief was breathtaking and Harry had to exhale deeply a few times to refocus.

Gritting his teeth, he slid his arms under Snape’s armpits and pulled him over to the couch, his legs dragging behind him. Then, he lifted the man and placed him on the sofa, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Only by accident, when he adjusted the pillow under the man’s head, he noticed the trickle of blood coming down his skull.

“Fuck.” Harry repeated and hurried over to his wand, which was lying forgotten on the floor. The Gryffindor started to cast as many healing charms as he could remember, wordlessly begging the man to wake up and be just fine. He managed to stop the bleeding and close up the wound, cleaning the remaining blood with a quick spell.

“Come on, you bastard. Wake up.” Harry whispered, sitting beside Snape and unconsciously taking the man’s hand into his own. “You know I didn’t mean at least half of the things I’ve said. You just make me so bloody angry...” He shook his head in disbelief, absently stroking Snape’s knuckles with his thumb.

“And what about the other half?” A quiet whisper came to the Gryffindor’s ears and with a relief, he saw that the man’s eyelids fluttered right before he opened his eyes.

“Thanks God, you’re alive. You scared the shit out of me, Professor.” Harry said, biting his lower lip nervously. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call in Madame Pomfrey?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Potter. I don’t need any fuss around me.” Snape answered, his voice strained and tired. He looked down at Harry’s hand still holding his own but didn’t take it away.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. One second we were dueling and the next one...” Harry shrugged his arms, not able to find the words which could describe how he felt in that exact moment.

Snape looked at him for a few long seconds, his look hard to define, but strangely making Harry feel very uneasy. He was observing him as if the young man was a very rare but dangerous creature, fascinated by his existence, in the same time trying to hide his curiosity. As if he was observing the lion playing with its prey or a massive thunder, mesmerized by its beauty despise its danger.

“You have no idea, do you?” He asked finally, astonishment written all over his face.

“About what?” The Gryffindor looked at his professor, confusion clearly present in his eyes.

Snape hesitated again and for the very first time Harry could see that the man was, in fact, nervous. He was absently rubbing his right index finger against the thumb, in a manner, which Harry could only describe as anxious. After a few tense seconds, he sighed heavily and finally spoke up, his voice surprisingly shaky.

“You are Him. You are a Witcher.” He said, the alien word sounding strange and dignified in Harry’s ears.

“I am what?” The boy asked, even more confused than before.

“A Witcher. There wasn’t one since Godric Gryffindor himself. I thought that was only a legend, passed from one generation to another, but of course, the bloody Harry Potter had to be the one.” Snape scoffed under his breath but his words lacked the usual sting.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Harry answered, taking his hand away and getting on his feet. “You must be mistaken. I’m not this Witcher thing. I’ve never even heard this term.”

“The ability to not only look into others magical cores but to also heal them? The unimaginable power which would start to grow rapidly when someone turned seventeen and would be freed for the first time only under very strong emotions? The unreasonable anger caused by the inability to control this power? You exhibit every one of those characteristic and I could bet my own life that you have others, probably even some which you don’t know yourself. You’re Him, no matter if you want it or not.” Snape said, visibly calmer, as if saying those words aloud eased down some of his anxiety.

Harry shook his head rapidly, not being able to believe what he was hearing. His professor was observing him closely, his eyes focused on his every movement.

“You’re feeling it again, aren’t you? The anger spreading slowly, when you refuse to believe my words. Don’t try to fight it, Potter.”

The boy gritted his teeth, hating to admit that his Professor was right. He did, indeed, feel this anger rising up inside of him again, making his hands shake. He didn’t want this, he didn’t _ask_ for this. Probably sensing his agitation, Snape sighed heavily and then lowered his legs, getting up from the sofa.

“Fix the windows, would you?” He said, walking over to one of the cabinets and then taking out two glasses only to fill them with the gold liquor a moment later.

“Sit.” Snape pointed at the sofa with one of the glasses, taking a sip from another. “And do not make me repeat myself.”

Harry rolled his eyes and then waved his wand, murmuring a spell under his breath. All the windows repaired themselves, the glass smoothly coming back to place. The Gryffindor sunk on the sofa, taking the scotch from the man, nodding at him gratefully. He was way too nervous and tense to lean back and relax in the back of the couch.

Snape sat in the armchair, opposite to Harry. He didn’t speak up for a few long moments, only stirred the liquor inside of his glass, deep in thoughts. The boy fidgeted nervously in his seat, taking a few sips on his own, the heavy silence ringing in his ears, trying to calm himself down at least a little.

“Last week, when you told me that you’ve cleared my magical core from the Dark Lord’s hexes, I couldn’t believe it at first.” Snape started finally, his voice low and quiet. “No one is able to do that. I’ve heard of those rare Healers, who have the remarkable gift of looking into the cores, but healing them with their own magic? No one has ever done something like that. So I thought that maybe you’ve confused something, maybe you really did have this gift and just thought you had healed me...” Snape shrugged his arms softly, never raising his eyes from the glass. “But I couldn’t deny how good I’ve felt that morning. Not even my salve could have made me feel that good, no matter how quickly applied. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, your words constantly repeating themselves over and over again in my head, until I went for my books. The thought that you could have been the Witcher was nagging at my mind, but I’ve never believed that even Godric Gryffindor was one himself, so I refused to believe that you could be the one. Unfortunately, nothing else was making any sense. So I’ve decided to test you.” Snape rose his eyes, fixing his gaze at Harry, his look piercing and honest. “I’ve tried to make you angry with me, check your reactions, feel you out. Imagine my surprise, when you seemed almost immune to my actions. Of course, you’ve noticed them but there were no bursts of anger, no throwing the tantrums. The more you ignored my remarks, the more I was determined to push you to the edge. I wanted to prove it to myself that I was right and that you couldn’t possibly be the Witcher. So I’ve decided that today would be my last chance to do so. And, of course, you had to prove me wrong. This… burst of power you’ve had. It wasn’t one of those, which children usually have, when their magic is still too young and unpredictable, or of teenagers who can’t control their emotions. No matter how surprising that was, during our trainings you’ve proved enough times that you can control your normal level of power. So this powerful blast, which left me unconscious, confirmed to me that out of everyone, you really are a god damn Witcher.” Snape finished, drinking the remaining whiskey in one shot.

“How can one blast like that be enough for you to be sure?” Harry asked, frowning. He still didn’t understand what exactly it would mean if, even theoretically speaking, he really was this Witcher.

“If the books are correct, this outburst freed your potential magical capability. You will see it for yourself, that doing normal magic will become much more easier. So easy, in fact, that it will be almost effortless. If you train and put your mind into it, you will be able to do wandless and wordless magic, another thing which is very characteristic. Even Dumbledore can’t do it, maybe except some simple spells. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I’m correct but even if I weren’t, now it will be much more easier to prove it. We just have to wait and see if something changes.” Snape answered and Harry couldn’t believe a single word which left his Professor’s mouth. His head was spinning from too much information and the tiredness from their duel was catching up with him.

“So what if I am this Witcher? What does it change? Is it what Prophecy was talking about? This power which the Dark Lord knows not?” Harry asked, glad at the burning taste of alcohol spreading through his body with every sip. Somehow, all of this was easier to handle with a little bit of whiskey.

“I don’t know. It could be.” Snape summoned the bottle from his cabinet and poured himself another drink. He silently offered more to Harry and the younger man reached out with his glass, gladly accepting the refill. “We are very lucky, indeed, if you really are Him.” Then Snape’s gaze became serious, his look sharp. “You can’t tell anyone about this. At least for now. We can’t risk The Dark Lord finding out. It could be our great advantage, if we could surprise him with this. Being the Witcher, it makes you the most powerful wizard in this world, Potter. It’s a very precious, but also a very dangerous gift. There will be people who will worship you, follow you to your grave. However, some of them will hate you with their whole souls, jealous and scared of your power. Do you understand?” The man’s voice was hard and determined, and all what Harry could do was to nod his head. Even if he still didn’t quite believe Snape’s words, he really did understand the consequences of such power.

Suddenly, all of this was way too much to handle for him. The knowledge and all this… pressure coming with it, it made Harry’s throat close up with anxiety, his heart hammer inside of his chest with the speed of a hummingbird, and for the first time in almost five months he was about to face another panic attack. He almost forgot how it was to live with them.

Probably noticing his distress, Snape got up from his armchair, putting his empty glass on the coffee-table and walked over to the sofa, sitting beside the boy, who was death-white on his face.

“Come on, Potter. Breathe. It’s all right, you will handle it. _We_ will handle it.” He said quietly, almost gently and Harry did his best to focus on this deep voice and not the thoughts running through his mind. Maybe he really was too weak for all of this, too unstable.

Without thinking, or maybe due to the alcohol influence, he shifted slightly and leaned back, his backside partly against Snape’s chest and arm. The man, firstly tensed, relaxed after few seconds. The contact helped Harry to ground himself and when Snape loosly put his arms around him, he let out a heavy sigh and managed to calm himself after a few deep breaths. He felt strangely safe in this warm embrace, against man’s strong chest, surprisingly reassured that no matter what happens, the man would be there, would help him with whatever the fate was going to throw at him. Like he always did, Harry realized.

The comfortable silence fell all over them, when both men were enjoying the closeness, deep in thoughts. Harry couldn’t comprehend how it was possible that out of everyone he was fond of spending his time with Snape, wanted to be near him, weird warmness spreading through his chest whenever he focused on that thought. However, there was also another thing nagging at his mind, disturbing him this peaceful moment.

“I am not weak.” He finally decided to break the silence, his voice strong and steady. He could feel Snape’s chest rising in a deep sigh behind him, which he finally let out, the air ghosting on Harry’s exposed neck.

“I know.” He said simply.

And that was enough. It was as close to the apology as Harry could ever get but those two words held so much meaning that even a hundred couldn’t fit. The boy’s heart fluttered inside of his chest, something strangely remaining butterflies filling up his stomach. He turned his head slightly to the right, a small smile present on his lips.

“You’re still a bastard, you know this, right?” He asked, meeting the onyx-black eyes of his professor.

“Brat.” Snape answered, the corners of his lips arched upwards, the smile making him look at least five years younger.

Suddenly, Harry became very aware of how close they really were, the man’s exquisite scent wrapping him up, invading his senses almost violently. He seemed to be rooted in his position, not able to break the eye-contact, completely another kind of tension settling down in his stomach. Without even realizing it, his gaze flicked to the man’s mouth only to come back to his eyes a second later. He felt almost compelled to lean in slightly, just a few inches, it would be enough, and he would feel those lips on his own. Would they be sharp like the man’s remarks? Or maybe surprisingly soft and tender? He wanted to find out, he needed to find out, before he would lose his mind, almost animalistic urge to kiss the man filling him up.

With his heart beating rapidly in his chest and the rushing blood in his ears deafening him, Harry got an inch closer, his eyes never leaving the intense, almost burning look. The man’s gaze was leaving gooseflesh all over Harry’s skin, all hair on his arms standing up. The Gryffindor could swear that just a second longer and he would drown into this look, forever lost.

But then all of the sudden Snape was moving away, standing up and Harry felt disturbingly cold when the man’s embrace was gone, a strange disappointment filling up his chest.

“It’s late, Mr. Potter. You should head back to your dormitory.” Snape said, his voice harsh and low, sending shivers down Harry’s spine. The boy was very glad to notice that their shared moment didn’t leave the man completely unaffected. Sighing heavily, he rose up from his sit and gathered his bag from the floor, aware of the man’s gaze at himself.

“I…” Harry hesitated, tilting his head to the right slightly. He managed to catch Snape’s eyes again and only then he continued. “Thank you, Professor.” He said genuinely, before he turned around and left the man’s office with a heavy heart and a head full of very confusing thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything connected to The Witcher series, I do not make any money by using this name, etcetc, everything belongs to A. Sapkowski, Atari and CD Project (and everyone whom I should mention but didn't because I don't know those people).
> 
> There's no connection between Geralt and Harry. He doesn't have any characteristics specific to the Witchers from the Series, eveything that I've used is a name. That's all.
> 
> P.S. If you don't know the Witcher Series I strongly recommend you to check it out!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm back with another chapter! Hopefully you're as excited as I am, because it's only going to get better and better from here (at least I hope so).  
> Please keep in mind that this story varies from the canon since the end of the fifth book, but the plot started at the beginning of Harry's seventh year. The events since Harry's fifth holidays are going to be mentioned later in the story. If anything seems unclear, please don't hesitate and ask me, I'll be happy to answer as simple as I can.
> 
> I'd also like to thank you all for amazing comments and kudos, you have no idea how much it means to me. It motivates me to write and sometimes I just want to throw everything else and deliver you a chapter. However, recently I had a horrible blockade as I was doubting my writing skills, but fortunately I've managed to fight it somehow and here it comes.
> 
> Have fun and please let me know what you think! xx

_The Wiggenweld Potion is a very difficult potion to make. It_ _cause_ _s people to fall asleep immediately after taking it, and its properties are comparable to the Draught of Living Death. It was invented by Wiggenweld in 17_ _th_ _century, and used in curing insomnia with great success ever since._

Severus sighed heavily, barely holding back from burning the test in front of him. He wasn’t sure if it was still anger that he felt, or just resignation. One would think that being in his seventh year classes meant having something, _anything,_ in their brains. Unfortunately, seeing works like that made Severus seriously doubt if his selection method was worth more than just a broken knut. He also wondered why someone would make things up, rather than just turn in a blank parchment. The effect was the same, but this way at least, he wouldn’t have to expose himself to such idiocy and risk himself a headache.

Severus took a quick look at the name and sighed for the second time. It was very hard for him to acknowledge that even his beloved Slytherins could be stupid sometimes. He would have to have a quick chit-chat with this Greengrass girl.

Putting the useless work away, he gritted his teeth when the name of another person’s test caught his eye. He run through it quickly, scowl firmly put in place. He hated to admit it, but it wasn’t a bad work. Quite the opposite actually. Lifting his eyes from the sheet of paper, he fixed his gaze at the person to whom it belonged to.

Bloody Harry Potter was the perfect image of a focused, lost in his work, disheveled student. His tie was loosened up, the first two buttons of his white shirt undone and the sleeves carelessly rolled up to his elbows, showing the smooth, golden-like skin. His forehead was covered with sweat from the cauldron’s heat, and his raven-black hair was unkempt from the continued motion of his hand sweeping through it in a hopeless effort to keep it neat. He was preposterous. Excessive. Completely unaware of his own allure.

He was the god damn Witcher and Severus had trouble with shifting his eyes elsewhere.

What were the odds? For real? He barely believed in their existence at all, but to have one right under his nose? That was impossible. He did his best to dismiss the idea for as long as he could. He had tried to find a different explanation, anything, but at the end of the day he knew it was pointless. It was a fact now, not a speculation anymore. Eventually everyone would know.

Somehow, this thought irked something deep down inside of him. He didn’t want them to know. He wanted to keep it private. A bitter-sweet, dangerous secret between them. He didn’t want to _share._

The idea startled him. What the hell was wrong with him? He had no rights to have that kind of thoughts. Potter didn’t belong to him, no matter if Severus was his tutor or not. He didn’t belong to him in any meaning of the word. He despised the boy.

 _Young man_ , his mind reminded him mockingly.

Still, he was flattered that he was the only one whom Potter saw. It should have disgusted him, and it did at first. It sickened him, terrified him that someone could mess with something so sacred, so precious as his own magic with such ease. Nevertheless, he was selfish of the boy’s power. The prospect of having it all to himself was way too luring to decline. He could have easily imagined having the boy wrapped around his finger, loyal, ready to obey his every wish. Potter was nothing more than just a teenager, still young enough to manipulate and steer as Severus wished to. With the Witcher by his side, he could be more powerful that the Dark Lord himself. Hell, even more than both The Dark Lord and Dumbledore combined.

His stomach turned at the realization and the dark, consuming feeling filled his chest. For five way too long seconds, he let himself indulge with the prospect. He let himself wallow in this craving for something more, something he had earned throughout all those years. Didn’t he spill enough of his and others’ sweat, tears and blood? Didn’t he humiliate himself enough? Sacrifice enough?

He couldn’t though. He wasn’t a monster. At least, not this kind of monster that everyone took him for. He had his morals and he would never allow himself to become the second Dark Lord. Ironically, he sacrificed enough to realize that he could never be that kind of man. To use people like that.

Severus knew himself well. He knew that he was driven to power. If he weren’t, he would never have bowed in front of, not one, but two masters. It was shameful, this weakness, and he despised himself for it, but nevertheless it was true. He let himself be a pawn both to the Dark Lord and then to Dumbledore, and even if the second one was for far better reasons, he couldn’t deny that power was one of them. So maybe Severus, even subconsciously, recognized what was emanating from Potter since the term has started and that was what was driving him to the other wizard. He just couldn’t exactly put a name to it until now. If that was true, indeed, it was very relieving. It meant that he didn’t go completely crazy, lusting after student like that. Well, he wasn’t exactly _lusting_ after him. More like, noticed his assets. To some point.

Severus frowned, gritting his teeth painfully. He had to control himself better. The fact that Potter was the Witcher didn’t change anything, no matter how powerful he was. Severus wasn’t eighteen anymore. He couldn’t just fall for it like he did for The Dark Lord. Neither was he twenty one, when he pleaded his loyalty to Dumbledore, still full of useless hope, dreams, and foolish ideals. He was a grown man now, and he should know better. Power wasn’t everything and Potter was still his student. A student whose parents were dead because of him.

The man still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that the boy had forgiven him. How could he? How could he talk about it so freely, so honest? The mere thought was making Severus sick. He was sick of him being such a noble Gryffindor. Sick of him being everything that the man thought he wasn’t. Sick of him always proving Severus wrong. Severus hated Potter with his whole heart.

The same Potter who was the goddamn Witcher. The same one who had forgiven him when he wasn’t. Supposed. To.

“Professor?” The voice brought him back to reality and Severus realized that the whole class was looking at him expectantly. He cursed himself for getting so lost in thoughts and focused his gaze at Draco.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” He asked, lifting one of his eyebrows at the boy.

“The bell has just rung, sir.”

Severus frowned, not giving away how surprised he was that he didn’t hear that.

“So?”

Draco cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by his professor’s strange behavior and asked:

“May we go?”

“Please, enlighten me, because it seems a little unclear, but are you all still eleven?”

The astonished silence fell all over the room, but Severus clearly awaited for the answer.

“No, sir.” Draco answered, his voice unsure if that was really a good one.

“Then I guess you all know what to do when the bell rings? Or do you need my assistance with bottling up the potions, placing them on my desk, then packing your things and leaving the classroom without a fuss?”

“No, sir.” Draco answered again. “But...”

“No buts, Mr. Malfoy. Just do what I say and leave. I’ve enough of a headache as it is without your stupid questions.”

Draco stared at him for a while, clearly astonished by his strange behavior, but then he finally moved and the rest of the classroom followed his example silently.

Severus did his best not to notice a half-amused smile on Potter’s face on his way out.

 

***

 

 “You aren’t even trying.”

Harry gritted his teeth painfully, his eyes watering from the effort of staring at the feather and making it _move_ with his will only.

“I am.” He answered, frustrated and angry.

“Then try _harder_.”

“You say it as if it’s that bloody easy. Why don’t you do it yourself, then?” The younger wizard fixed his piercing gaze at his professor who was sitting directly opposite to him, the cursed object between them on a coffee table. He tried to buy his time challenging Snape, trying to throw him off balance, even just slightly. But then, to his great surprise, the man lifted one of his exquisite eyebrows, clearly accepting the challenge and shifted his gaze to the feather.

It was hovering above the table and the man seemed completely unmoved by the effort of doing that.

Harry gaped in shock, blinking a few times.

“But...” He started and then frowned. “You said that even Dumbledore can’t do it!”

Snape grimaced, which surprisingly looked like a self-satisfied smile and then relaxed in the back of his armchair.

“Do I look like _professor_ Dumbledore?” He asked, purposely emphasizing the title.

“Well… no. But I thought that he was one of the most powerful wizards in the world! How is it possible that you...” Harry cut, shaking his head in disbelief.  
“With enough self-discipline and training, even _ordinary_ people are capable of such a simple spell without their wands, Potter.” Snape’s voice was mocking and Harry blushed.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t care what you meant. Just because you’re the Witcher, doesn’t mean that you’re discharged from training. Either you work twice as much, or you fail. And the consequences will be dreadful, I assure you.”

“Stop repeating that word.” Harry hissed, annoyed.

Snape lifted his eyebrows at him in a fake surprise.

“Which one? Training? Work? Consequences?”

“ _Witcher.”_

Snape sneered, clearly amused.

“Oh, but you are Him, Potter. Stop denying it. The faster you accept it, the better for you.”

Harry huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. I just don’t want to focus on that for longer than it’s necessary.”

“Running away from problems doesn’t make them disappear, Potter.”

“I’m not running away. I’m just… delaying it.”

“That’s the definition of running away.”

Harry groaned, grabbing a nearby cushion, and threw it at his professor in a pathetic try to silence him. The man dodged skillfully, and the pillow flew right next to his right ear, falling to the floor with a thud.

“Very mature of you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head with disbelief.

“You know, I’m not even sorry.”

For a second, Harry thought that Snape was going to laugh too, judging by the way his lips quivered, but nothing like that happened. Harry wished he could see the man laugh at least once.

The comfortable silence fell over the room and the younger wizard relaxed into the back of the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. His head was slowly working a headache from the effort of moving the feather with his thoughts, which seemed completely ridiculous to Harry, and he just craved for a quick nap.

“You’re not going to sleep here, Potter.” He heard his professor’s annoyed voice, but didn’t care for it at the moment.

“Mm. ‘m not.” Harry mumbled under his breath.

“Potter!” Snape barked and the younger wizard sighed heavily.

“Fine. You’re no fun.”

Snape gritted his teeth almost audible, and Harry chuckled. The comfortable silence was back again.

“So… how did I do today?” Harry asked finally, with his eyes still closed.

“At what?” Snape snapped, irritated.

“At today’s Potion’s test.”

Snape was silent for a few long seconds, which caused the boy to open up his eyes finally. The man was looking at him closely, his gaze hard to interpret.

“That bad, huh?” Harry asked, a sinking feeling forming inside of his chest.

“How do you think you did?” Snape asked, and Harry was almost sure that he was attempting to sound neutral. He shrugged, trying not to show any disappointment on his face.

“I don’t know. I thought that I understood most of the potion last week when we were brewing it here. I also read my notes yesterday. Generally, I was pretty positive when I’ve turned it in. I guess I’ve overestimated my abilities, judging by your face.” Harry hoped that Snape couldn’t tell that he cared for his grade. Because he didn’t.

With a deep sigh, which could only be interpreted as annoyance, Snape rose from his armchair and walked over to his desk, Harry’s eyes following his every move. He opened one of his drawers, fumbled inside for awhile and then closed it, a folded paper in his hand. Then, he walked over to Harry and extended his hand, passing him the test. With his heart beating much faster than he cared to admit, the younger wizard took it and straightened the paper.

A surprising, gasping sound left his lips.

“You gave me Exceeds Expectations?” Harry bowled his eyes out, blinking a few times, not quite sure if he believed what he was seeing.

Snape grimaced and then returned to his seat.

“Why are you so surprised? You managed to get an O on your OWLs, even though trust me, I’m still wondering how _that_ was possible.”

“Well, yeah, but those were examinators. Not you. I’ve never received anything higher than an A from you.”

“Then you didn’t deserve it till now.”

Harry smiled brightly at his professor, fully aware that he had to look like a lunatic, at the same time doing his best to ignore the furious butterflies fluttering inside of his stomach.

“Did you just compliment me, Professor?” He asked, a cheeky smile present on his lips.

“I’m merely stating a fact, Potter. You’ve studied, you’ve written a decent work so you’ve received a decent grade. That’s all.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely complimented me there, sir.” Harry answered teasingly, not being able to erase a goofy smile from his lips.

“Stop grinning.” Snape growled, his own tightened in a straight line. However, Harry suspected it was more due to trying to stay serious, rather than from real annoyance. “I wonder how you managed to get an A before if you didn’t study at all, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Oh, sod off.” Harry laughed. “You can’t ruin it for me now.”

This earned him a lopsided smile which did wonders to Harry’s insights.

“I can always try, Mr. Potter. Don’t tempt me.”

 

***

 

Draco rubbed at his temples with his thumbs and sighed heavily. The lines were blurring in front of his eyes, and he wasn’t sure how to make them _stop._ He really wished he could, maybe then he wouldn’t be so sick of them.

It was getting hard for them to keep up the same pace with which they had started. It’s been a little more than a month, but it surely felt like a whole year. Who knew that research could be that tiring? Add to it the pressure, the hopelessness, the long hours in the night. He had no idea for how long they could hold on like that. He was worn out, dog-tired, drained and whatever other adjectives he could think of.

He promised to himself that if they finally found this goddamn ritual, he would sleep for a week, damn all his classes. He would burn the whole school down if that was necessary for him to finally have some peace. Or he would kill Dumbledore. Or Potter. Or The Dark Lord. Or fucking everyone, if that was what it would take.

The sudden knock at the library’s door startled the whole trio as all of them were slowly, but surely falling asleep, propped up at their elbows, eyelids falling no matter how hard they were fighting against it. The door opened and Neville’s grandma walked in, carrying a plate full of cookies in her hand.

“You should take a break, my dears.” She said worriedly, seeing how they were trying to put themselves together, not quite convinced that they weren’t sleeping. “I made you some cookies. I’ve added some Invigoration Draught inside. Hopefully it will boost your energy at least a little.”

“Thanks, Grandma.” Neville said and smiled at her gratefully, trying to hide how really tired he was. “We’re almost finished.”

They all knew that it was a lie, but his grandma appreciated the sentiment anyway. She gave them one last worried look and left the room, closing the door behind herself.

“Fuck.” Draco murmured under his breath and eyed the cookies skeptically. He was too tired to even chew right now, but he took one anyway. Maybe it really would help. One could hope.

At first, it was very difficult for him to be in Neville’s house. He knew what Aunt Bellatrix did to the boy’s parents. He felt awful whenever he recalled what he had said to him in Hogsmeade the other day, even though he would never say it out loud. Yes, he apologized. Kind of. But he would never admit that he was thinking about it more often than he wanted to. And how ashamed he was of his own family. At the end, the Longbottoms were pure blood.

After they didn’t find anything useful in Hogwart’s library, they decided to move on to the Longbottom’s one. It was the easiest solution as they wouldn’t have to bother Potter for the time being, even if the boy assured them that it wasn’t a problem. Still, he would have to go to the Grimmauld Place every time they did as otherwise the wards wouldn’t let them in. Of course, he could bring Severus with him to train there as to not waste time, but still it would be troublesome. The commuting was much more easier too, as the Floo didn’t work at the Black’s house anymore, the wards being to blame again. They would have to apparate every time, back and forth, and even if they overlooked how tiring that would be, they couldn’t ignore that it would be very suspicious. Draco didn’t want to think that they would have to make it work anyway, if they didn’t find anything here.

His first meeting with Neville’s grandmother couldn’t be described as the most pleasant either. What could have been to be expected, of course. At first, she just stared at him, as the three of them flooed to her living room, having agreed with their tutors that they were adult enough to manage everything without supervision. It was a piercing, uncomfortable gaze, making all the hair on his arm stand up. Of course, Neville informed her beforehand that they would arrive. What didn’t change, that as long as the Malfoy’s surname was involved, she had every right to hate him and not make him welcome in her home.

Draco kept his head held up, doing his best to not be too intimidated by her, but it was almost impossible with this stern, scarred by a tragedy woman. He made the best effort to be polite though, the perfect image of a well-mannered, young man, but it didn’t improve the matters too much. She was still giving him _that_ look. As if she believed that he tortured her son and his wife personally. Draco had trouble keeping his sanity during those days, which he was forced to spend in this house. Not only was the research wearing him down, he also had to bear the silent accusations, the remorse of something that happened when he had a god damn year. So it was only natural that after a week, he simply snapped.

It was Monday and theoretically speaking, he should have been rested enough to walk into the new week with a renewed energy. Only that he wasn’t. The classes were a bitch. He had to stay up late to finish his assignments almost every night now, even during weekends. Or especially during weekends, when he had some time for himself. He also had a fight with Crabbe and Goyle because even though they weren’t blessed with intelligence, they weren’t that stupid not to notice that he was disappearing on them all the time. He had to lie to them of course, what recently became his second nature. Finally, there was a Death-Eater meeting on Sunday and even though he wasn’t among them yet (he wasn’t sure if he would ever be, to be honest), his mother worried for his father, which made him worry too of course, even though they were never close. He had a constant headache and he was just so sick of everything. Add to this a full of accusations look of Neville’s grandmother, this ridiculous remorse which magically appeared whenever he was at Longbottom’s house yet again, and you get an explosive mixture. So that was exactly what he did. He exploded. Right after Augusta Longbottom purposely ignored his yet another polite greeting. He tried to compose himself by clenching his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms painfully, trying to tell himself that he didn’t care, but it just wouldn’t work.

“I’ve said “good evening” Madame.” He said, gritting his teeth painfully. “It would be polite if I got an answer.”

The woman barely looked at him, keeping herself busy with some cleaning and Draco ignored the impatient and insistent looks of both Hermione’s and Neville’s faces.

“You always treat me as if I’m not even there, even though I didn’t deserve any of it. Do you hear me? I didn’t deserve it. I had nothing to do with what happened to your son. I’m not to be hold responsible for someone else’s actions.” He said angrily, his voice much louder than he wanted it to be.

This earned him her attention, anger slowly boiling inside of her blue eyes, which were strangely too similar to the ones of her grandson’s, when she looked straight at him.

“You say you don’t deserve it, boy? You treated Neville and Hermione like shit for years, and yet you still want me to believe that you’re really as polite as you present? That it isn’t just a facade? Then think again. You don’t deserve either my attention nor courtesy.” She answered sternly and Draco was taken aback by the disdain dripping from her every word. If he ever doubted it, he was now completely sure that she truly hated him. He didn’t exactly had a good answer to that as no matter how he looked at it, it was true. He took a deep breath then, trying to hide both his shame and anger, and said as calmly as he could, giving the circumstances.

“I’ve made a mistake. It took me awhile to realize that, but I’ve underestimated both of them. Taking my upbringing into account, I felt obliged to do so. It wasn’t as if they treated me with respect either, was it? We are still learning, Madame. We are entitled to make mistakes.”

He could feel curious looks of his companions at himself, but he did his best to ignore it. His thoughts weren’t with them at that moment.

Augusta looked at him, her gaze hard to define, the tension never leaving the room.

“But you’re not entitled to humiliate others. Bully them. Make them hate themselves.”

The silence which rung in Draco’s ears after that was louder than any other words could have been.

“No.” He answered quietly, suddenly aware that his voice was almost breaking down, all his anger evaporating. Later, he could blame his tiredness for how he felt, but it didn’t change that this woman was right. He had no right, indeed. And he was a coward. So he just turned on his heel and ran away from this house, promising to himself that he would never come back.

Unfortunately, things weren’t always as we wanted them to be, so when the next day Neville stopped him after classes to talk, he talked. And he apologized. And then he talked some more. Which he didn’t do. Ever.

He told him about his own humiliation at home. How his father’s friends treated him. How his own father despised him for not wanting to take on the Dark Mark. How he beat his mother once, when she was pregnant and made her lose the baby. How he never dared to raise his hand at Draco himself, but didn’t mind his friends doing it for him. How Draco hid under this arrogant, rude facade to avoid any attention at what was happening in his own home.

Neville listened, without interrupting, without judging, without useless sympathy. And that was good. That was freeing. Draco had never felt better in his whole life.

Miraculously, after that Neville’s grandma didn’t hate him anymore. Or maybe she was hiding it well. Draco suspected that the boy had something to do with that, but surprisingly he trusted him enough to know that he wouldn’t tell any of his secrets. At least, not directly.

So he was sitting in Longbottom’s library now, chewing on a cookie, waiting for the potion to kick in and going through yet another book.

“Do you think it even exists?” He asked the same question for a thousand time, still hoping to get a direct answer. Maybe Potter or Dumbledore shared with them something what they didn’t trust him with. But both Hermione and Neville shrugged their arms, chewing on their own cookies.

“If not, then I’m going to kill myself.” Draco spoke again, not really sure if he was joking.

“Come on, Draco. Don’t be so melodramatic.” Neville snorted, rolling his eyes. “You will manage.”

Draco sighed, burying his head in his arms.

“Please, wake me up when you find something.”

“Then you can sleep forever, Sleeping Beauty.” Hermione said and then laughed at the boys puzzled expressions. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten that you haven’t read any of the Muggle bed-time stories.”

Neville and Draco exchanged a look which clearly meant that they believed that the girl went completely crazy, and went back to their research with a heavy sigh. It was going to be another long, fruitless night.

Except that it wasn’t.

It was getting close to the two in the morning, when something caught Draco’s eye. All the cookies were gone, they were falling asleep again, and it seemed that it was time for them to call it a night. But then, the boy decided to read yet another chapter and his eyes widened on their own accord.

“Guys.” He said quietly, trying to not get his hopes too high. “Hey, guys.” He repeated impatient, when there was no response.

Draco rose his head, a small smile tugging at his lips when he saw that both of them were fast asleep. He went through the chapter again and decided that it was worth waking them up.

So he shook Neville’s arm, who was sitting next to him, showed him the chapter, and after the Gryffindor’s eyes widened at the text, he shook Hermione’s arm, waking her up as well.

The girl was fully aware only after a few seconds, silently taking the book from Neville and reading the fragment they showed to her. She blinked a few times, completely dumbstruck, and then she raised her eyes at them, finding her voice at last.

“I can’t believe it. We’ve found it.” She said, and that was true indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm such a drama queen... You don't even know the half of it. x


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank AnaTheOtherAlien for the tremendous job she did, betting this chapter. Seriously, without her, there would be tons of mistakes and I couldn't be more grateful!
> 
> Also, I'm planning to go through some of the previous chapters, and correct some mistakes I've noticed to make this story as good as I can. None of the changes will affect the plot, so no need to worry about that. 
> 
> I can't believe how long this story is getting. It's the longest ff I've ever written, and I can already tell that it isn't even half of it. I just hope that your comments and kudos will be enough to keep me motivated to write till the end of it. 
> 
> Enough of my talk, I hope you will enjoy the chapter and don't forget to let me know what you think in a comment! 
> 
> xx

The wind outside the window was making the trees sway gracefully. The golden-brown, orange, and yellow leaves were swirling around each other as if they were dancing, touching themselves shyly like an inexperienced lover touches his first suitor. Delicate, unsure, but yet, so impatient. It wasn’t raining, at least not yet, but not a single ray of sunshine was able to break through the thick layer of dark, almost navy clouds. The temperature was slowly decreasing too, and Harry thought longingly about the summer and the bright, peaceful, careless weather. He missed his days at Hermione’s house. He missed his walks, his little rituals with her family, watching television in the evening while eating pizza, even going out to the local pub. He missed feeling like a normal teenager, problems pushed away in the dark corner of his mind for the time being.

“Harry?” Hermione’s quiet voice reached his ears and Harry turned his head away from the window, looking at her inquiringly. “Did you hear what we said?”

He nodded once and looked out again. Yes, he did hear them. They had found the ritual. He should be happy, shouldn’t he? Grateful. Excited even. Then why wasn’t he?

“Tell me about it.” He said then, ignoring the worried looks coming from both Mcgonagall and Dumbledore. He wasn’t going to be sorry for not being enthusiastic about becoming a weapon. Because all of this was about that, wasn’t it? The choosing, the ritual, it was all just for that. Even his… legacy. He doubted that the “Witcher gene”, as he came to call it, would activate if it wasn’t needed. He wished it didn’t. Maybe at least then he would taste normality for longer than just two single months. Harry sighed internally and focused his gaze back at the people gathered in the Dumbledore’s office. There was no point in dwelling upon things he couldn’t change.

Hermione cleared her voice, clearly taken aback by his weird behavior, and after exchanging one last look with Neville, who nodded at her encouragingly, she spoke up;

“It’s called _Potestas Devotionis,_ as professor Dumbledore has already mentioned at the beginning of the year. It’s a power ritual. It enables the ability to increase the person’s power adequately to his own, probably four or five times. The book wasn’t too specific on that. Maybe even more. However, to achieve that, several factors are needed. To start with, a potion. From what we’ve understood, its function is that when consumed during the ritual, it enables it to boost said power, which makes it the most important element. That’s why I think we should focus on that first. The second thing are artifacts used during the ritual, such as bolline, chalices, censer and things like that. Unfortunately, we cannot use the ordinary ones, because they have to be specifically selected. However, the books states what kind exactly they have to be. The last thing are herbs and oils employed throughout the procedure. Before the person pursues the ritual, he has to perform a special cleansing bath, for which another special oils and herbs are needed. Those are rather commonly used though, such as lavender for example, so there shouldn’t be much of a problem with acquiring them. The ritual itself consists of making the sacred circle with runes, then preparing the objects while declaiming special formulas, and then using them, which ends up with drinking the potion. In short, of course. Harry would be the one who will have to perform all of this, except for making the circle. That can be done by anyone who is also participating, which means any of the remaining nine people. This brings me back to the potion. Again, the Headmaster was right and except for the main person, there are nine more needed. Ten is believed to be the holiest number of all. With the completion of the circle, the amount of four first digits, it symbolizes the four elements. That’s why everyone has to provide something essential for the ritual, no matter if it’s going to be used during the potion making, or in the ritual itself. Added with a drop of blood, it will mark the person as a participant. The potion itself is going to be tremendously difficult to make, and I believe it’s going to take a very long time. Except for some basic potions ingredients, it consists of very rare… magic objects, I believe. Again, there are ten of them. However, it doesn’t have to be one person for each object. It’s probably made to encourage all the participants to contribute, but it’s not a rule. Even one person could supply everything, if only the remaining ones do their bit. The required objects hold a very specific meaning, each of them providing something special and unique to the potion. These are the following: Sacred Water, blood of the Ancient Vampire, a piece of the oldest Oak Tree, a flower from the most poisonous plant, a piece of the most Sacred Mineral, a hair from the most sacred animal, blood from the most Powerful Wizard, a piece from the Greatest Enemy, a piece of the Greatest Fear, and a piece of the most Sacred Thing. I believe, that the last three ingredients refers to the person who is conducting the ritual, so it probably means the greatest enemy, fear, and the sacred thing for Harry exclusively. The books describes all the steps which must be taken during the potion making, as well as the cleansing bath and the ritual itself.” The girl looked over her notes in focus, checking if there was anything else of importance. “That would be all, I guess.” She finished, raising her head and looking straight at Dumbledore with a somehow sharp expression in her eyes. The headmaster nodded his head at her, and cleared his voice.

“Thank you, Miss Granger.” He said, intertwining his fingers and joining his thumbs in a triangle shape. “We shall discuss it now, then.”

Harry stared at them, his brows painfully furrowed. He had trouble with wrapping his head around all of this. Blood from the Greatest Enemy? A piece of the most Sacred Thing? _A piece of the Greatest Fear_ ? He couldn’ t s top the shudder which went through his body at the face that appeared in his mind at the thought of that . He shut his eyes and breathed out deeply. He was not going to think about _him_ right now.

“What does it all mean?” He asked finally, when no one else seemed to voice the obvious question. “What is the Sacred Water, or the most sacred animal? Does the book say anything about that?”

Hermione bit her lower lip and shook her head.

“Unfortunately, no. I guess we have to figure it out on our own. Reach out to books again.”

A growl beside her made Harry look at Draco with a hint of amusement.

“And I guess it’s all on us again.” The Slytherin murmured under his breath, a grimace present on his face.

“Let’s focus on the facts, firstly.” Dumbledore spoke up, ignoring the boy’s comment and reaching out with his hand for Hermione’s notes. “May I?”

The girl nodded her head and passed him the papers, which were neatly put together. He glanced through them, his forehead wrinkled and without raising his head, he said, “Severus, I believe you will handle blood of the Ancient Vampire, won’t you?”

Harry fixed a surprised look at his professor, who nodded his head rigidly, and then answered with a tense voice.

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“Good, very good. And the most Sacred Animal? I believe that would be a unicorn, wouldn’t it, Professor Macgonagall?”

The older witch cleared her throat and answered, “We would have to confirm that for sure, but yes, I believe so.”

“Mr. Longbottom, I trust you will be able to narrow down which is the most poisonous plant, won’t you?” The headmaster spoke up again after a few seconds, his eyes still fixed on the text in front of him.

“Uhm… probably?” Neville answered, unsure, exchanging a look with his tutor. “One can never be sure when it comes to plants, Headmaster. There is always a possibility that such a plant wasn’t discovered yet, or...”

“Of course, of course. We will have to test all the ingredients.” Dumbledore cut in, rubbing his chin with his thumb and going through yet another page. It was slowly getting on Harry’s nerves. The demanding tone, the inattention.

“Okay, so if, and I say, _if_ , we manage to decipher what every ingredient means, how are we supposed to get it, sir? Let’s take, a piece from the Greatest Enemy, for instance. How do you imagine one of us getting to Voldemort, and taking something from him? It seems almost impossible to achieve.” He spoke up finally, irritation clearly audible in his voice. “And even if we, somehow manage to do it, what if we don’t get all of them right and waste the other ingredients? Walk right back to Voldemort? That’s just insane, sir.”

That made Dumbledore finally raise up his head and look at Harry sharply, his blue eyes piercing behind his half-moon glasses.

“We don’t have any choice, my boy. This ritual is our only option.”

“There must be some other way.” The Gryffindor said, gritting his teeth. “Something that isn’t as suicidal as this.”

“There is not.” With those words, Dumbledore lowered his head, a rustle of turning pages the only sound in the room again.

Harry breathed out, irritated, and shaking his head with disbelief. It was pointless, really. How was he supposed to face Voldemort if he died in the process?

“Blood from the most Powerful Wizard...” the headmaster murmured under his breath, brows furrowed in focus, seemingly talking more to himself than to the people gathered in his office. “There are a few options here...”

Harry glanced at Snape quickly, trying to judge if it was time to reveal the big news already, but when he met the onyx-black eyes, his professor shook his head, barely noticeably. Not yet, then.

When he thought about it, it was kind of weird to have secrets with Snape, out of all people. Something that he never expected to happen. And something that shouldn’t feel so bizarre and… exciting in the same time.

“All right then.” His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Dumbledore’s voice. “As the ritual clearly states, every participant must contribute at least one ingredient. I will meet with the others later this week and present them with their tasks, while we share the rest of them. Miss Bones will be required to deliver the Sacred Water, Mr. Blaise – the most Sacred Mineral, Mr. Macmillan – a hair of the most Sacred Animal, Miss Lovegood – the oldest Oak Tree, Mr. Goldstein will focus on the research of runes the best suited for this kind of ritual, as the book doesn’t state them clearly, Miss Richard will help you, Miss Granger, with gathering all the artifacts, herbs and oils needed.”

“Headmaster?” Harry spoke up, making use of a break in Dumbledore’s speech. “How are you going to make sure that they don’t find out what we need those things for? You will have to give them some explanation, at least. And later, how are we going to ask them to give their blood willingly to take part in the ritual?”

“Don’t worry, my boy. I will be very discreet. I will provide them with only the most basic information, and tell them that their assistance is very important to the school. And besides, they will only know about their ingredient. It’s a very rare ritual, I doubt they will be able to tell what we are planning.”

It didn’t exactly answer Harry’s question, but he decided to let it go for now. From what he gathered, they still had a long time to figure this all out, and he really hoped they managed to do it without any fatalities along the way.

“Carrying on, you Mr. Longbottom will take care of this plant we were talking about, while Mr. Malfoy and I will do our best to get a piece of Voldemort.”

Harry glanced at Draco, whose face was completely blank. However, the slightly twitching moves of his fingers resting upon the chair’s armrest showed his nervousness.

“With all due respect, Headmaster,” Snape spoke up, his voice deep and calm. “Wouldn’t it be more… sensible, if I were to get a piece of the Dark Lord? Afterall, I have more opportunities to do so than Draco.”

Dumbledore looked at him, clearly deep in thoughts, but finally shook his head.

“No, Severus. Yours and Mr. Potter task will be to get the Ancient Vampire’s blood, as well as a piece of what Harry fears the most.”

“Isn’t a piece of the Greatest Enemy, and a piece of the Greatest Fear the same thing? We could -”

“Professor,” Harry interrupted him, his voice firm and determined. “It’s not the same thing.”

Their eyes locked and the younger wizard saw a flash of surprise and curiosity in those never-ending depths, before it quickly disappeared. The man’s jaw tensed, showing off his sharp cheekbones and he bowed his head in a silent acknowledgment.

“Very well, then.”

Harry did his best to ignore a worried look he received from Hermione, and focused back on Dumbledore.

“Is there anything else?” He asked, suddenly realizing how worn down he was. The thought that he still had to go to Snape’s office for his training after this, dejected him completely.

“There is still a matter of the most Powerful Wizard.” Dumbledore answered, smoothing down his long, white beard with one hand. “I will do a research on this matter and inform you about the results promptly. That’s all, I think.”

Harry rose from his chair, nodding his head. “Thank you, Headmaster. Good night, then.”

The rest of the room followed his example, bidding their goodbyes and making their ways over to the door, when Dumbledore’s voice broke through the hustle once again.

“Oh, Severus? Would you stay behind for a few more minutes? There is one more matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

Harry looked over his arm at the Potions Master, who had his lips tightened in a straight line and his brows furrowed.

“Of course, Headmaster. Potter, wait for me outside.”

The younger wizard nodded his head and left the room behind Hermione, closing the door with an audible sound.

 

***

 

Harry was leaning casually against the wall opposite to the Dumbledore’s office, when finally the door had opened and a very outraged figure of his Potions professor dashed out from the room, shutting the entrance with a loud thud. He eyed the younger wizard up and down, ugly scowl put firmly in place, only to bark a second later, “Follow me, Potter.”

Harry couldn’t help, but stare at his professor’s back, quickly fading away from his sight as the man ran down the stairs, his robes fluttering behind him furiously.

“Are you deaf, Potter?!” Snape’s voice pulled him out from his shock, and he did his best to catch up with the older wizard.

The corridors were fairy empty, with students either at dinner or in their common rooms, but those few which had had bad lack to encounter them during their stride, jumped away terrified of the rage radiating from Snape. Harry had no idea what could have caused it, as he didn’t quite hear any screams coming from the closed door of the Dumbledore’s office, but then he remembered that the man probably used the silencing charms, to prevent him from eavesdropping. Noticing that some of the students sent him pity looks, probably thinking that he was the reason behind Snape’s anger, he realized that he was more amused than frightened by the man’s weird behavior. He should have been at least alarmed, if not scared, but strangely through out all his time spent with the man, he became kind of immune to his bursts of irritation or anger.

When they finally reached Snape’s office, Harry closed the door behind him and faced his professor, who was pacing along the room, clearly on edge.

“Professor?” He asked gently, keeping his distance by the door as to not push his luck.

Snape didn’t even look at him, murmuring something under his breath, which suspiciously sounded like “old, barmy fool” and “one day I will strangle him myself”, when Harry decided that he had had enough.

“Professor!” He said sharply. “Would you care to explain what happened?”

That made Snape look up at him finally, and, for which Harry was more than grateful, stop pacing.

“It’s none of your business, Potter.” He sniped in a menacing tone, his eyes almost thunderous.

For the first time, since they had left Dumbledore’s office, a spark of worry settled inside of Harry’s chest. It didn’t look like Snape was overreacting to an unexpected watch during Hogsmeade weekend, or Dumbledore telling him, again, not to threaten students to drink their own potions. It looked much more… serious.

“Maybe I could help?” Harry tried again, doing his best to sound neutral, but when Snape only sneered at him with disdain, he felt that worry slowly transmute to irritation. “If you aren’t up for it, Professor, then maybe we should postpone today’s training?” He asked, hoping that if he left Snape’s office, a clearly upcoming would be avoided.

“I’ve actually hoped we could discuss this ritual thing, but maybe we could do it some other time then?” He offered once again. When he received no answer, just Snape’s incisive gaze boring into his eyes, it made him feel far more self-conscious that he wanted to.

Apparently that was a wrong thing to say, because suddenly Harry found himself pinned to the wall, Snape’s arms beside his head, caging him in completely as he loomed over him, his body vibrating with anger.

“The ritual, you say? You will be dead before we even reach the half of it.” He hissed, his nostrils flaring, his mouth pale and quivering as if he completely lost control over his fury.

At first, Harry was too shocked to form a single word, his heart hammering inside his chest. The man’s exquisite smell was invading his airways, and the heat between them was startling him completely. But then, he looked up into Snape’s eyes and furrowed his brows, when he managed to comprehend what Snape had said to him.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, trying not to let his voice waver.

“Why do you think it was so hard to find it? Why didn’t anyone try to go through with it over the years, if it’s such a powerful ritual? Why didn’t even the Dark Lord decide to make use of it? Do you think it’s because he has never heard about it? Oh, he has, believe me. Only, that even _he_ thought that it was impossible to complete.”

“But why? Dumbledore seemed pretty positive that we would manage...”

“He did, didn’t he?” Snape snarled. “The old fool.” With those spitted words, Snape took a step back and turned around, walking over to his cabinet.

Harry watched as he opened it and poured himself a good deal of whiskey, his stiff back revealing how tense the man really was. The Gryffndor bit down on his lower lip, his forehead wrinkled as he tried to make out what really was going on here. If it was only about the ritual, then Snape would have had a burst out earlier, wouldn’t he?

“What aren’t you telling me?” He asked finally.

Judging by the way the man froze, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip on the glass, Harry was almost sure that he had hit home. He took two steps in the man’s direction, and repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

“Snape, what aren’t you telling me?”

His professor turned on his heel and took a long sip from his drink, clearly avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“Nothing. I just realize the difficulty of this task, unlike everyone else as it seems.” He answered, trying to past the younger wizard, but Harry took a step, blocking his way.

“I’m serious, Snape. If you’re hiding something from me, something crucial...” He let his words hang in the air for a second, tension settling at the back of his neck in painful layers, nailing him down to the floor. He managed to catch Snape’s eyes, his own narrowed, trying to detect if the older wizard was honest with him, but the intransigent blackness was as impenetrable as ever. They were seizing each other up, fighting a wordless battle, both determined to hold their ground, and Harry was strangely hit by the fact that they were of almost equal height now. Must have always been the man’s demeanor to make him feel so small in comparison.

“I’m not hiding anything.” Snape answered at last, his voice strong and confident. “And I’d appreciate it if you got out of my way.”

Harry gritted his teeth, observing the man’s face for a little longer, but gave up eventually, breathing out a long sigh and moving away. He didn’t exactly feel any calmer, but he trusted that Snape wouldn’t lie him in his face like that. If anything, he always proved his honesty to him, never mincing his words, saying exactly what he was thinking.

After a second of hesitation, Snape drew himself up, an uncharacteristic furrow in his brow, and skirted around Harry, his robes brushing against boy’s side, who had to resist the urge to shiver at this gentle touch.

“Why didn’t you want to tell Dumbledore that I’m a Witcher?” Harry asked, turning to Snape’s direction, who was slowly sipping his drink, standing by the fireplace, the orange-blue flames reflecting on the thick glass.

“It wasn’t the right time. Too many people were present.”

“Don’t you think that he should know?” He tilted his head to the left, watching the man closely.

“He should. But not yet.”

“Why not?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter! If you are so impatient, then tell him himself.” Snape snapped, irritated, turning his head into his direction.

“I’m just curious.” Harry answered, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Then go be curious elsewhere. I’ve had enough of your annoying questions for one day.”

Harry tightened his lips in a straight line, wondering if he really should leave. Strangely, he didn’t want to, somehow drawn to the warmness of the room, and its quietness. It felt comfortable. He certainly didn’t look forward to the common room’s noise, where he could barely hear his thoughts.

“I don’t want him to know.” Snape spoke up eventually, his gaze unfocused on the flames, surprising Harry with the openness of his tone. He stared at the man’s back, feeling as if he should do something, uneasiness settling inside his chest. The only thing he managed to do, had _courage_ to do, was to take a few steps and stand next to the man, the warmness of the flames warming him up. He softly asked, “Why not?”

Snape looked across at him, his forehead wrinkled, his dark-pink lips peculiarly sticking out of the paleness of his face. He answered in a dark tone, his deep-black eyes so captivating that Harry thought that this time, he would definitely be drawn into them.

“I find myself oddly selfish of this knowledge.”

Harry stared at the other man, trying to hide his shock and ignore the furious beating of his heart, which was spreading heated blood all over his body. He was barely aware that he had goosebumps all over his skin, despite the fireplace’s heat. When he attempted to find at least two more working cells in his brain, he tried to work up an answer.

“I understand.” He said finally, his voice barely above whisper.

And he did, kind of. When he finally had worked up his courage to face the fact that it was real, _him_ being a Witcher was real, he decided to ask the Room of Requirement for some books on the topic. It was only recently, and he didn’t manage to get too far ahead, but slowly he was realizing what it really meant. For him, for people around him, for the whole magical world. To have such power at hand… to be almost unstoppable, unbreakable. It was terrifying. Terrifying and beautiful. And to be the only person in the whole world to have this knowledge, beside Harry of course, it had to feel astounding. The thought that Snape didn’t have too many occasions in his life to feel that way, to feel... special, made something inside Harry’s chest tighten painfully.

One corner of Snape’s lips arched upwards and the squeeze loosened up, replaced by warmth spreading somewhere along Harry’s sternum. Suddenly, he realized that he wanted to make Snape wear this expression much more often. It looked good on him. It made his sharp features soften and eyes gleam, reflecting the flames sparking inside.

Harry couldn’t grasp the exact moment when he realized how close they were really standing.The man’s proximity was making his skin tingle, his scent wrapping him up tightly. He did his best to resist the urge to wipe off his suddenly sweaty palms against his trousers and he unconsciously swept his tongue over his lower lip, to get rid of its sudden dryness. He felt weak in his knees, when he saw that Snape noticed it, his pupils dilating slightly, and his eyes burning in a way he had never seen before. The heat of this gaze sent shivers down Harry’s spine, making him almost vibrate with need. A need, which he couldn’t even _name_. He just knew that if he didn’t do something, say something, he would go mad, forever lost in this penetrating gaze, all his nerve-endings fried from tension. His breath hitched inside his throat when he moved forward slightly, but still enough to feel Snape’s hot breath ghosting over his lips, sending sparks of anticipation down his spine, making him even more alert to the man’s exquisite sent.

“You should go.” Snape said, his voice deep and throaty, and Harry had no idea how he expected him to leave if he was talking to him in _that_ voice.

“I don’t want to.” He responded quietly, suddenly afraid that he was the only one who was feeling it, the only one affected by their closeness. That he was imaging things.

But then Snape closed his eyes for barely a second, exhaling deeply, and Harry was almost sure that he was trying to compose himself, regain control over his own body.

When their eyes met again, the heat was gone, replaced by firmness and determination. Snape took a step back and turned around, walking away and gulping down the remaining whiskey from his glass. The younger wizard did his best to ignore a painful disappointment spreading inside his chest at the sight of the departing man. He breathed out deeply, trying to put himself together and to force his legs to move again.

Only when he left the office, with a quiet “goodnight, Professor”, the horrified realization hit him hard. He not only almost kissed Severus Snape, but utterly failed at being repelled by the idea, and instead, was deeply regretting that it didn’t actually happen.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back after about three months break, and I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update! However, as I've reassured you in the comments, I've never abandoned the story or forgotten about it. Life was just super crazy and believe me, if I had time, I wouldn't hesitate to update sooner.
> 
> Anyway, here comes another chapter and I dearly hope it will meet your expectations! Please let me know what you think in the comments.
> 
> Big thanks to AnaTheOtherAlien for betting like always, she is amazing!
> 
> P.S. The story is more than one-year old now, can you believe it?! I certainly can't. Thank you all for you support and I couldn't be more grateful! <3

“Move, Ron!” Harry nudged at the boy’s side with his elbow. “You’re not the only one who would like to eat their breakfast.”

Ron rolled his eyes at him, but slid to the left slightly, making some space.

“Someone got up from the wrong side of the bed.” Hermione noticed.

Harry decided to ignore her, and instead reached out for his favorite sausages.

“Any news today?” He asked when a fair amount of food landed on his plate.

“Fortunately not.”

“I have news.” Ron cut in excitedly.

Harry rose his eyebrows at him in a silent question.

“I got a letter from Charlie. He is free this Friday evening.” Ron’s smile turned wicked when he looked suggestively at Harry. “We can have a night off finally.”

“Really?! About time. I’m this close -” Harry made an inch wide gap with his thumb and index finger “from going completely crazy.”

 _And suddenly lusting after my Potion’s professor doesn’t help the matter too much_ , he thought to himself. Then, he shook his head mentally. He wasn’t _lusting_ after him. At least that was what he kept repeating to himself.

“I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea.” Hermione murmured, wrapping her hand around her warm cup. “There are ten thousand things that could go wrong.”

Ron rolled his eyes at her and shoveled half of his toast into his mouth.

“’Ont ory smach.”

“Excuse me, Ron? I had a little trouble understanding you through all this food.” The girl huffed, brushing off the front of her blouse when some of the boy’s meal landed on it.

Ron swallowed, not even slightly embarrassed.

“I said, don’t worry so much. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, you wish! I’m not letting the two of you from my sight! Who knows what might happen then.”

“We’re both adults, Hermione.” Harry answered, his voice turning defensive. “We can take care of ourselves, you know.”

“Yeah, sure.” The girl rolled her eyes at him, a small smile never leaving her lips. “I don’t doubt it in the slightest.”

Harry chuckled, knowing that deep down Hermione was also dying to get out of the castle, even for one night.

“For now, I can think of only about one problem.” Ron wrinkled his forehead. “How do we get out of the castle unnoticed?”

“Charlie isn’t going to inform Dumbledore that we’re going with him?” Hermione asked, surprise present in her voice.

“Well, he didn’t write anything about that, so I guess he can’t just go to the Headmaster and ask if we can leave the castle to have fun in a club. Harry’s privileges don’t spread that far.” Ron snorted, but then grimaced painfully when the said boy hit his arm hard.

“Hey! I don’t have any privileges!”

“Yeah, sure.” Both of his friends rolled his eyes and Harry stuck his tongue out at them.

“No, but seriously. It does complicate the matter.” Hermione frowned, biting down on her lower lip. “I’m not really sure if it’s worth getting caught… What if they expel us?”

“If they wanted to expel us, they would have had enough reasons already.” Ron noticed.

Harry regarded his friends, an easy solution present in his head. However, the Great Hall wasn’t a safe enough place to bring up the topic of his ability to apparate within the castle. It was already risky to talk about their little trip with so many students present, but the noise was comfortably loud at this time of the day.

“Let’s talk about it after classes, hm?” He suggested, his voice holding a hidden meaning, which he knew his friends would for sure detect.

Both of them looked at him knowingly and nodded their heads in agreement.

A sudden squeaky shriek made Harry look up from his plate, and notice a brown-feathered owl gliding through the Great Hall, drawing attention to itself with its enormous wings. The bird circled around students’ heads for a few seconds, only to dive in Gryffindor’s table direction and land gracefully in the middle of Ron’s scramble eggs.

“Hey! You stupid bird! Get off of my plate!” The boy exclaimed, trying to shoo the owl away with his hands, but it only gave him a somehow patronizing look and stretched out his leg in Harry’s direction. Only then, Harry noticed a blue envelope tied up to it. He reached for it and unwrapped the letter carefully, not having a single clue from whom it could be. The second he freed the owl from the package, it flew away immediately, without sparing them a second glance.

“Did you expect some mail, Harry?” Hermione asked, equally intrigued.

The boy shook his head, turning the envelope in his hands a few times, trying to find some indication of its origin.

The paper was rough under his fingers and its pastel blue color reminded Harry of letters from nineteenth century, usually exchanged between hopelessly in love lovers, separated by cruel fate. An idea struck him and he bent his head to sniff the envelope, only to wince away with disgust. It even smelled of sweet, floral toilet water!

“I’m not sure I want to open it.” Harry murmured, a grimace never leaving his lips.

“Come on, Harry! Don’t leave us waiting.” Ron grinned, pushing his ruined plate away.

Sighing heavily, the Gryffindor finally levered the seal and took out a folded piece of parchment, which, too, smelled of those sickening flowers. After exchanging one last look with his friends, he straightened the paper and read the letter.

He was barely aware that his face turned from normal to sheet-white, then to beet-red and came back to white in mere seconds. He threw the letter on the table, outraged and embarrassed, shaking his head with disbelief.

“I can’t even...” He didn’t manage to finish the sentence, too dumbfounded to create a full line.

“What? What does it say?” Hermione asked hastily, somehow excited.

Harry waved his hand in a welcoming gesture, saying, “Go ahead. Read it for yourself.”

Hermione picked up a letter, her eyes moving back and forth as she was reading, and burst out laughing the second she reached the end.

“It’s the sweetest love letter I’ve ever read!”

“It’s a love letter?!” Ron exclaimed and grabbed the sheet of paper, which fell from Hermione’s fingers.

“Just… don’t read it out loud, please.” Harry said, hiding his face in his hands.

“Oui, Harry, we all would like to hear it.” Neville snickered, the fuss bringing his attention to them. He looked over Ron’s arm to also get a look. And just like Hermione, both of them couldn’t help their snorts of laughter after a throughout read.

“Stop it, it’s not funny.” Harry grasped the letter from Ron’s hand and shoved it inside his opened Potion’s book. His last attempt at learning something for today’s test failed miserably after this display.

“Wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings, would we?” Ron asked, winking at him.

“It wasn’t signed, was it?” Hermione tried to open up a book to have a quick peak, but Harry put it into his bag immediately.

“No, it wasn’t. Come on Hermione, we’ve got to go.” The boy got up from the bench, but before leaving the Great Hall, he turned and bent his head so it was inches away from Ron’s. “Not a word to anyone, understood? I really don’t need the whole school making fun of me. Again.” He said in a low voice, piercing him with his eyes.

Ron just rolled his.

“Merlin, you’re spending too much time with Snape. And I think it’s a little too late for that, mate. You know how this works. Everyone probably knows already, even as we speak.”

 

***

 

An hour later, Harry really wished that the whole school knowing about his love letter was the worst thing that could have happened to him. However, with his goddamned luck, it just wasn’t possible. And with those bloody Slytherins.

“Miss Parkinson, if you could come here for a second.” Snape’s voice came from his desk, where he was going over their freshly written tests.

The girl put a stasis charm over her cauldron and did as she was told, a smug expression on her face.

Harry wasn’t really paying attention to her, too focused on his potion and its description in his book. Something just wasn’t right with it, but he couldn’t really put his finger on it. He read it three times already and still he had this feeling like he was missing something out. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice what was coming to him.

On his way back, Parkinson decided to pass his desk. There wouldn’t be anything weird about this, if they didn’t sit on the exact opposite sides of the classroom.

“Hey Potter, I heard you got a very interesting letter today. Is that true?” She asked, leaning casually over Harry’s desk.

“Piss off, Parkinson. Can’t you see I’m busy?” Harry answered, not even looking up from his text.

“Miss Parkinson, back to your cauldron, please.” Snape’s voice reached them and Pansy only sneered at Harry, when a sudden movement of the girl’s hand at his book caught the Gryffindor’s attention. Before he could react, Parkinson was walking away, letter triumphantly in her hand.

“Hey! Give it back!” Harry exclaimed, jumping up from his chair, outraged. He grabbed the girl’s arm and turned her around, trying to rip the piece of the paper back.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Potter.” Parkinson snickered, raising her eyebrows at him and batting her eyelids. “You see, I’m very curious who would have written a love letter to _you_.”

“It’s not your goddamn business. Give it back.” Harry hissed through his teeth, his fingers tightening on the girl’s shoulder.

“What is going on here?” Snape’s cutting voice came from behind them and Harry let go of Pansy’s arm immediately.

“Nothing professor.” The girl smiled sweetly over Harry’s shoulder, but there was something dangerous about this smile. “I was just picking up Potter’s _love letter._ It fell from his desk.”

Harry could almost hear the man’s eyebrows lift up in a surprised manner.

“ _A love letter_?” Snape’s voice turned dangerously soft and Harry couldn’t help but shiver at this tone. He turned around, facing the man, and met an unrecognizable look in the man’s eyes. He prayed that Snape would just let it go, because at the end, he wasn’t the first person ever to get a love letter, right? But, of course, nothing could be that simple with him.

“Well, Miss Parkinson. Hand it to me then. I won’t allow notes like that to be passed during my class. If Mr. Potter wishes to have an affair, he can do it outside this classroom.” Snape extended his hand stiffly. He seemed uncharacteristically rigid, his jaw almost painfully tensed.

“But sir,” Harry started, but after taking one look at his professor’s stern expression, he let it go. The only thing he could have done with his talking, was to worsen the situation.

Pansy, however, seemed very satisfied with it and passed the letter to the Potions Master. Then, she turned on her heel and marched away to her desk.

The class was quiet as the grave when Snape looked down at the folded piece of paper, a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows. Then, he looked up at Harry and the boy’s breath hitched inside his throat.

He was going to read it. He didn’t know how he knew it, but the conviction was spreading through his body with every quickened heart beat. He was going to read it and Harry was struck by the coldness of this look. The… dejection. It was unnerving.

“Well, Mr. Potter. Let’s see if it’s worth a broken knut, then.” The man rose his eyebrows at him, slowly unfolding the paper. And then, he read it:

 

“ _When I lay my eyes on you,_

_It was just like the flu:_

_It knocked me of my feet,_

_Right in the middle of that street._

_Your laugh is like music to me,_

_Your smile is what I want to see._

_To be by your side all the time,_

_Facing the day’s pastime._

_To hold your hand in mine,_

_and feel like a true shine._

_This feeling for me is new,_

_So let me just say:_

_I love you.”_

 

By the time Snape finished, Harry wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed by the situation, or by the fact that he was half hard in the middle of the classroom. Hearing Snape read this letter, in that smooth, deep, voice of his, hearing the words spoken to him, even if they weren’t his own, was… incredible. And then, to see the man’s lips quiver in a suppressed laughter, his eyes one shade softer than before… Suddenly, it wasn’t funny to him anymore. It was bloody hot.

“You did us all a favor, Mr. Potter. With this person already interested in you, they won’t bother anyone else. That’s a great sacrifice, and I’m sure everyone will appreciate it.” Snape said, slipping the letter into his robe pocket.

Harry couldn’t help the amused smile, even though he was trying very hard to stay mad at the man. At the end, he did embarrass him in the middle of the classroom. Happily, his robes were baggy enough that no one could see his problem. Thank Merlin for little miracles.

“May I have it back?” He asked, doing his best to sound agitated.

“Sentimental, aren’t you?” Snape rose one of his eyebrows at him and turned around without answering the question.

Harry sighed to himself, watching the man’s back walking away from him. Damn him for always making things difficult.

 

***

 

When the bell rung, announcing the end of the lesson, Harry bottled his potion, labeled it with his name and fussed around his desk, waiting for the last person to leave the classroom. When Hermione rose her eyebrows at him, he just mouthed the word “letter”, and she nodded with understanding, leaving after the others.

When the door closed behind the last person, the Gryffindor took his vial and walked over to the front of the classroom, his gaze focused on the form of his professor. Snape was sitting behind his desk, writing something on a piece of parchment, seemingly distant, but Harry knew better than that. It was impossible to catch this man off guard.

“I won’t write you a justification if you were late for your next class, Mr. Potter.” He spoke up, without raising his head.

“I’d like to have my letter back, sir.” Harry answered, calm determination present in his voice.

“Would you now, wouldn’t you?” Snape lifted his head and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest. Harry wished he hadn’t just raked his eyes over the man, taking in his form, which he now knew was way more muscular under all those layers of material than the man let anyone see. The almost forgotten stir of arousal coiled in his stomach for the second time today, sending a shiver down his spine. He swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together.

“Yes.” He managed to answer, pouring as much confidence into his voice as he could muster.

“Well, hopefully then, if you don’t get it back, maybe that will teach you not to exchange those kind of notes during my classes. Or any notes for that matter.”

Harry sighed under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t. I got it before the class started, and if Pansy weren’t noisy enough to steal it from me, there wouldn’t be any fuss around it.”

“Steal it from you? From what I know, she just picked it up for you.” Snape responded, but not even a trace of surprise was present in his voice.

The Gryffindor snorted, shaking his head with amusement.

“Professor, please. She lied, okay? She did it on purpose and you know it. May I just have it back so we could forget about this whole business?”

The man sized him up with furrowed brows, his face blank.

“No.” He then said and lowered his head, picking up his quill again.

Harry clenched his jaw painfully, his professor’s stubbornness getting on his nerves finally.

“You have no right to keep my private correspondence.”

“I do, if it’s exchanged during my classes.” Snape answered calmly, without stopping his writing.

“I’ve already told you, that I didn’t get it _here_.”

“And I don’t _care_. I have no reason to believe you over Miss Parkinson.”

Harry took one step forward and forcefully placed the bottle with his potion on the desk, what made Snape cease his writing finally, but not lift his head.

“Professor, let’s be reasonable. I won’t leave without it and I certainly don’t see any reason why you couldn’t give it back to me. You don’t have to believe me, but there were hundreds of witnesses that can prove, that I got it during breakfast. Maybe just ask them.”

The older man jerked up his head suddenly, piercing Harry with his intense gaze.

“Why do you care about this letter so much?” He asked and by the way his jaw tensed immediately, the Gryffindor could tell, that he didn’t mean to spit it out.

Harry furrowed his brows, observing the man’s face closely, but except of that little slip, he couldn’t read anything from it.

“I don’t really fancy the idea of one of my professors having it. Please, sir. I really have to go to another class.” Harry answered, hoping that his pleading tone would help the matter.

After a few tensed seconds, during which they were seizing each other up, Snape finally reached to one if his drawers and got out a folded piece of parchment, which Harry recognized was his letter.

“Thank you.” He breathed out with relief, reaching out for it, but before he could take it away from the desk, the sudden jerk of Snape’s hand pinned his palm to the surface almost painfully.

“I couldn’t care less about who writes love letters to you, Potter, but keep it away from my classes. Am I making myself clear?” Snape hissed, his eyes suddenly burning and Harry felt even more confused than he was before. Talking with this man felt like a bloody rollercoster.

“Crystal, sir.” He answered, fully aware of the man’s heat radiating from his hand and the way how his body was reacting to it, and he was more than glad when Snape finally let him go. Without another glance, he turned around and left the room as fast as he could without making it look suspicious.

 

***

 

Even though Harry realized that he couldn’t hide his secret forever, he had no idea how to tell his friends that he was able to apparate within the castle and outside of it. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain to them the constant awareness of the wards surrounding him, or that they recognized him. He certainly didn’t want to imagine how he was going to present them with the fact that he was the Witcher, when the time came. The consternation would be immense, he reckoned.

Today’s task was unavoidable, however. That’s why he settled on a direct approach, which would probably turn out to be the best, rather than mincing his words.

When he finally gathered up his courage, it didn’t quite go as well as he hoped for.

First and foremost, he didn’t predict that Ron would have attacked him the second he apparated into their dormitory, after making sure that the room was empty except for his friends. Well, he should have probably thought about warning them somehow beforehand.

“Fuck Ron!” Harry shouted, countering the hex, and dodging before the next one could have reached him. “Stop!”

“Harry?! Fuck! I thought we were under attack! You appeared out of nowhere! How did you...” He cut, completely dumbstruck, adrenaline still going through his body.

“You made it!” Hermione exclaimed, running up to Harry and throwing her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d make it work!”

Harry patted her back a little awkwardly, nodding his head in the same time.

“Yeah, I did.” He answered sheepishly, sending Ron an apologetic look.

“I thought you have given up on trying to apparate since you couldn’t find anything on the topic with Hermione last year.” The red-head boy said, wrinkling his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

Harry sighed, running his hand through his unruly hair. He knew it was inevitable.

“Let’s sit and I’ll explain everything.”

They did as he told them, Hermione almost bouncing in her sit on the bed, and Ron a little more reserved, probably still in shock.

“So, as you know, I was a little… desperate to find out how to get out of the castle unnoticed. How do you think I was managing it all this time?”

Ron shrugged his arms and answered, “We thought you were using unauthorized Floo from The Room of Requirement or something. At the end, you were disappearing from there.”

“Yeah, I was planning something of this kind, if this didn’t work out. I’ve even tried it once, but unfortunately, despite the Room being almost perfect, it wasn’t able to create a Floo for me exclusively. The only other option was using some Floos on Hogwarts grounds, but I was risking being found out. It would have registered where I was going, and if someone wanted to do the check-out, it’d definitely bring some attention that Harry Potter was leaving the castle every week to some Muggle town. So even if it seemed that I let the possibility of apparition go, it was always in the back of my mind.”

“So how did you manage to do this, exactly?” Hermione asked, the professional curiosity present in her whole posture, and Harry went on with the story, making sure not to omit any details. He owned them that much.

When he finished, out of the curiosity himself, he asked them if they could catch on this feeling of wards themselves. He tried to describe the sensations as best as he could, but despite their first enthusiasm, they were unable to detect the magic within the castle.

“I guess it could come with practice.” He offered, trying not to notice their disappointment.

“Or maybe it’s only possible under very strong emotions. You said it yourself, that you had a break-down during the time.” Hermione said, shrugging her arms.

“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, that’s the perfect way we could leave unnoticed on Friday.” Harry grinned, finally relaxed, when he had the talk behind himself.

“Have you actually tried any side-along apparition outside the castle?” Ron asked. “How are you sure it’s going to work?”

“Well, it’s not that much different, isn’t it? Probably uses more energy, that’s all.” He shrugged, looking for confirmation from Hermione.

“Technically yes, but you never know how the wards will react once you try to smuggle someone else.”

“Let’s try it out now, then.” The boy jumped up from the bed and when his friends looked at him in bewilderment, he asked, “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“It’s just… Aren’t you tired? We had classes all day and you’ve already apparated a few times to demonstrate. Maybe we should try it tomorrow?” Hermione said cautiously.

“I’m fine, Hermione, really. Don’t worry, I won’t splinch us. It’s not that tiring at all.” He chuckled, because the thought never even crossed his mind. His new strengthen power was at least useful for something. When his friends only looked at him skeptically, he pressed on, “Come on, it’s going to be okay. I’m actually excited to try it out.”

When they got on their feet finally, Harry took them both by their arms, saying, “Close your eyes and hold on tight.”

Few seconds later they were standing up on the hill and the London city was stretching out beneath them. Both Hermione and Ron gasped in shock, disbelief written all over their faces.

“Bloody hell, mate! That was amazing!” Ron exclaimed, looking around and taking in the beautiful view of the city below. “Where are we exactly?”

“We’ve been here on the trip with my parents once. The hill is just outside the city, but it’s a long way up so at this time of the day it’s almost impossible to meet anyone.” Hermione said, smiling brightly. “I can’t believe you are able to do this Harry. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us eather!” She smacked him in the arm lightly, but he only smiled back.

It felt amazing to be with his friends out there, the sun almost completely set down, but still giving enough light that it wasn’t completely dark. The delicate breathes of wind were tickling their exposed skin back and forth, favoring them with one of the last warm evenings this autumn. The air was clean and refreshing, and Harry couldn’t help himself but to take whole handfuls of it, filling his lungs with this incredible feeling of… presence. He didn’t remember the last time he felt as alive as he did in that exact moment. They stayed like that, in complete silence, the noise of the city never reaching them, and just enjoyed the moment of being together. Feeling each others’ closeness. Who knew how much time they had left?

After what felt like eternity, Harry met his friends eyes in a silent question, and when they nodded their heads, he took their hands and apparated back to the castle.

 

***

 

The Friday evening couldn’t come soon enough. During his last class that day, Harry could barely sit straight for longer than five minutes. He was doing his best to calm down himself, but the reality was – he had never been to a club before, not to mention a gay one. He wasn’t just excited; he was also anxious and worried. What if he couldn’t handle something like that yet? What if he freaked out or had a panic attack? What if the crowd was just too much for him? Or what if someone found out that they were gone? And, in the worst case, what if the Death-Eaters would track them down? Of course, all of them would wear a glamour and they were going to a muggle club, but still… There were so many things that could have gone wrong, and nevertheless Harry was determined to do this. He wouldn’t let Voldemort scare the shit out of him and stop him from leading a somehow normal life. At least as normal as he could have had, being The Chosen One.

When the dinner finally ended, and Harry was able to leave the Great Hall without looking suspicious, he proceeded to his dormitory to change. Throughout the process, he decided that none of his previously prepared outfits were good enough. On some level he realized that he was seriously exaggerating, but somehow all his earlier confidence just evaporated when he was looking at himself in the mirror, critically judging his look. If it wasn’t for Ron, who finally lost his patience and told him that he could always go dressed up as “a fucking Easter Bunny for all he cared”, he would have probably never decided on anything.

After Hermione met with them in the Room of Requirements, where they sneaked out under the Invisible Cloak, Harry apparated the three of them outside Charlie’s flat in Glasgow. The older man had warned them that he would invite some muggle friends to the before party, that’s why it wasn’t too wise to appear in the middle of the room, seemingly out of nowhere.

When they entered the flat, the music was already on, but only a handful of people were present, nursing their drinks, talking, or swaying to the music gently.

“Have you seen Charlie?” Hermione asked one of the girls and when she pointed into the kitchen’s direction, they proceed there, where Ron’s brother was talking with some dark-haired man.

“Hey! I hadn’t heard you come in!” Charlie exclaimed when he noticed them, smiling brightly and greeting the trio. “Fancy a drink?”

“Yeah sure.” Ron grinned back.

“Ollie, meet my brother Radley and his girlfriend Hana. And this is the family friend – Daniel.” Charlie introduced them with the names they had decided to use beforehand, and the man nodded at them.

“Nice to meet you.” He said, the deep tone of his voice strangely unfitting with his, somehow cute, name. However, when Harry took a closer look at him, the broad shoulders and a wide chest was probably to blame for it. He was also rather tall, maybe not as tall as Ron, who outgrowth almost everyone in his year, but definitely taller than Harry. When their eyes met, the younger man was struck by the deep blue color shining out of them, which composed rather beautifully with his sharp cheeks.

“Nice to meet you too.” He smiled, positively surprised that when the man also checked him out, it didn’t make him feel self-conscious, but rather flattered. Of course, he wasn’t really looking much like himself, with golden brown hair, which was shorter than he usually wore, hazel eyes and a few freckles here and there. The rest of his body was his own, however. That was probably one of the reasons why he was more at ease. At the end, he could pretend that he was someone completely different, with alternative history.

“Let’s move the party to the living room, shall we?” Charlie offered, handing them their drinks and they left after him, discovering that since those few minutes that they were gone, more people showed up.

“So… Daniel? How are you?” Ollie asked, when they settled on one of the couches after Harry’s friends engaged in the conversation with one of the Charlie’s friend who they knew from some other party.

“Fine, thanks. Glad it’s weekend already.” He grinned, taking a sip from his drink and when the hot liquid burned his throat suddenly, he tried his best not to caught his lungs out. “Gosh! Did Charlie even add any juice into it? This thing is bloody strong!” He managed to spit out with watered eyes between one bark and the other.

Ollie chuckled, patting him on the back lightly.

“Yeah, I forgot to warn you about that. Mine was just the same.”

“If he wants me to reach this club where we’re going, then it’s not the smartest idea to give me _that_.” Harry eyed the drink skeptically.

“Oh, so you’re going too?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.” Harry nodded, not wanting to admit that actually he had never been to a club before.

“Same here. I’m not even sure I remember the last time. This bloody job is keeping me so busy sometimes.”

“So what do you do?”

Throughout the evening, Harry had found out that Ollie was a firefighter, hence their friendship with Charlie probably, also a guitarist in some niche band, and a full-time brother to his two younger sisters.

First drink led to the second one, slightly lighter this time, and second to the third, after which Harry’s head was slightly spinning, but the conversation didn’t get any less interesting. All in all, he was having a great time, and the fact that Ollie was handsome, and seemingly interested, was making the situation all the better. Harry was pretty confident, that indeed, could have been a pretty interesting evening.

It was coming close to one in the morning, when they moved to the club finally. The second Harry crossed the entrance and the music blasted out with its full force, he knew that he was going to love the place. It seemed as if the music was already flooding through his veins and he couldn’t quite stop himself from moving his hips to the rhythm. The alcohol was partly to blame for it, probably.

The place was huge, with two floors, four different dance floors, and a bar in every one of them. The décor was modernly simple, with big black leather sofas at the back, huge crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling and silver metallic poles threw around all over the place. The loud bass was making the walls shake in its foundations, but if anything, it reminded Harry of a beating heart, and he was mesmerized by the view of hundreds of people dancing into the same rhythm. It seemed like they were all lost in this insanity, and he had never felt this craving to join them in this madness. It was incredible, as well as a little overwhelming, but for the first time in his life he felt like it was completely fine to just lose it.

“Come on!” Ollie grabbed his hand, laughing at the face Harry was making and pulled him into the general direction of the dance floor. Actually, it was pretty hard to tell where it started because it seemed like people were simply everywhere.

“This is incredible!” Harry shouted, smiling brightly, barely being sober enough to look over his arm and check out where Hermione and Ron where. Happily, they were just behind him, followed by Charlie and the rest of their group. When they went far enough to blend into the crowd, Harry felt like some unknown force takes over him. He just closed his eyes and danced, moving his hips to the rhythm, feeling the heat and sweat of other people, enjoying every single beat of the music. It didn’t matter that there was hardly enough place. When he danced, it felt like it was just him and the song; nothing else. It was one of the most liberating feelings he had ever felt and he knew that the moment he felt it, he became addicted.

Without realizing how much time had passed, throughout his haze, Harry felt that Ollie shifted behind his back, until there was hardly any space between their bodies. The heat radiating from the man’s front was sensual and intoxicating, and barely thinking, he pressed into it, leaning his head against the man’s shoulder. His partner lowered one of his hands, sliding it down Harry’s bottle-green shirt until it rested on his right hipbone, and dig his fingers into it, sending marvelous shivers down Harry’s spine. Acting almost automatically, Harry swayed his hips backwards, fitting perfectly into the crook of the man’s perineum, and gasped when he felt a bulge against his buttock. The desire shot within him in hot, dense waves and he pressed harder, in the same time sweeping his tongue over his suddenly very dry lips. With his eyes still closed, Harry rocked his body to the rhythm of the song, completely lost in the experience.

With time, however, something shifted inside of him, and the body behind him wasn’t the same body anymore. The smell, the touch, the moves weren’t of the same person. They were dusky and heavy, reminding Harry of the rich flavor of dark Swiss chocolate. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sensations, letting them invade his whole senses, until his blood was boiling inside of him, loaded with pure need. The intensity of this feeling was unbearable and Harry felt weak in his knees, hardly aware of the moan which left his mouth. The image which danced behind his eyelids was filled with strong, muscular body; scarred and violated, but so perfect.

With one smooth movement, Harry turned around and dived into the full-mouth kiss with such ferocity that his companion had to take a step back to remain vertical. He tangled his hand in the man’s hair, craving to feel the softness of his strands, but instead of the silky length, it was met with short, spiky hair, completely unfitting to his vision. Dumbstruck, Harry opened his eyes rapidly and took a step back, realization coming down on him with the force of hundreds bricks.

He was in the club, and the man he just kissed? _That_ definitely wasn’t Severus Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter was mostly written by my best friend, as I'm super shitty with rhymes. I've added a few lines from myself, but God bless her for help, seriously.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back with another chapter! It took me awhile, but only because I've spent hours and hours on polishing it, as I was never satisfied with the result. Now, tho, after the amazing job my beta did (thank you Ashlee!!), I think it's acceptable at the very least. Hopefully you'll like it and please let me your opinions in the comments!
> 
> P.S. Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, they mean the world to me and I'm so amazed by your response to this story!

When Harry woke up the next day, he decided that death definitely couldn’t be any worse than the way he felt right then. In fact – he preferred death. At the end, he had some experience in that matter. Sadly for him, it didn’t want to come, no matter how much he begged for it or squirmed in his bed.

Last night, when his mind decided to play tricks on him, he decided to fight back. That meant - killing it with as much alcohol as he was able to drink. Throughout the process he was pretty positive, that he successfully eliminated all of his working cells what hopefully meant, that they wouldn’t bother him anymore. Unfortunately, it included destroying his memory and, probably, losing his dignity as well. He only hoped that he didn’t have sex with anyone. That would be the most unfortunate part, especially if he didn’t remember it. The fact that he was in his bed, in Hogwarts, signified that maybe he had some sanity left inside of him at the end. Irregardless that he had no idea how he ended up there.

Moaning loudly and rolling over to the other side of the bed, Harry dropped his legs on the floor and lifted up his upper body – the motion which he regretted almost immediately. Fighting off his nausea, he raised up, instantly reaching out with his hand to lean against the bedside cabinet and prevent himself from falling. Damn this dizziness, he couldn’t even get up properly.

Eventually, he managed to drag himself to the bathroom and the second he reached the sink, he turned on the tap with a growl. He bent his head to eagerly welcome the breath-taking taste of fresh water. One could never appreciate it enough, especially if they didn’t know what it meant to hungover people.

“Harry?” The distant voice reached him and he responded with another growl, not being able to form a proper word. “Hey, Harry.” Ron walked into the bathroom, surprisingly in perfect form.

Harry leaned his forearms against the sink and turned his head to look at the boy.

“Why aren’t you in the same state as I am?” He managed to say, taking in the relaxed form of his best friend.

Ron laughed and answered, “Well, maybe because I’ve already taken this.” He reached to his pocket and took out a little vial with golden potion inside of it.

Harry growled for the third time, this time with unspeakable relief, and with his last strength reached for the vial.

“Thanks mate. You’re the best.” He said when pleasant coldness spread through his entire body, along with the helpful sip of the Anti-Hangover potion.

“Yeah, I know.” Ron chuckled. “Feel better already?”

“Definitely.” Harry breathed out deeply, the dizziness fading away slowly, leaving him with a mild headache only.

“So, what happened yesterday?”

Harry frowned, not understanding.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you kind of lost it, didn’t you?” Ron rose his eyebrows at him.

“Oh come on!” Harry rolled his eyes, leaving the bathroom and heading to his trunk. “I just got drunk. From what I remember, you drank as much as I did.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t kiss half of the club.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, his head turning around so fast that he thought he snapped his neck.

“What? I didn’t...”

“You don’t remember?”

“Well, I admit that it’s all a little vague, but surely I wouldn’t...”

Ron sighed, shaking his head.

“I don’t judge, okay? Merlin knows, I went through this too, once or twice. But I’m just worried about you, okay? You’re not exactly the type.”

Harry went quiet, doing his best to recall as much as he could from the previous night. He remembered kissing Ollie, which wasn’t a good idea, as it turned out, but anyone else?

“Are you sure it wasn’t only Ollie?” He asked, uncertainty present in his voice.

“Well, the guy was definitely hot for you, but he just couldn’t keep up.”

“Fuck.” Harry murmured, dropping on his bed and putting his head into his hands. “Fucking Snape.”

“What?” Ron frowned, not understanding.

“Uhm… I meant that going to him today is the last thing I dream of doing.” Harry answered, scolding himself instantly. He didn’t mean to slip it out.

“Yeah, I imagine.” Ron took a step and sat next to Harry on the bed. “Listen, mate. Whatever is going on inside of that head of yours, I’m sure you will figure it out. It’d just help if you talked to someone about it. It doesn’t have to be me, I won’t push you, really. I’m worried, Hermione is worried, and after everything that happened, we just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Harry sighed, touched by the care his friends were displaying, but they got it all wrong this time.

“I’m alright, Ron. Don’t worry, really. It’s not connected, okay? It didn’t even cross my mind yesterday. I just… had fun. Didn’t even know I had it inside of me.” He chuckled, doing his best to convince the other boy that he was telling the truth, which he actually was. Yes, he acted under the impulse, but not because of his past, but because of the present. That was a big difference.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Did I do something… worse than kissing?” Harry asked unsure, biting down on his lower lip.

Ron sighed, brushing his hand through his red hair in an uncomfortable manner.

“Oh no, I did, didn’t I?” Harry groaned, putting his face into his palms once again.

“Well, not exactly. There were some guys who would have really liked to do something more, but you were pretty… fierce with not letting them.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were constantly telling them to leave you alone, because you didn’t want to fuck someone random. But then you weren’t that opposite to kissing them, so some of them got pretty… frustrated, if you know what I mean.” Ron chuckled.

“And later I’m surprised why they use me.” The other boy murmured.

The sudden movement in the corner of his eye made his head jerk up in surprise and he faced an outraged Ron, who loomed over Harry, his posture vibrating with anger.

“For fuck’s sake! If you say something like that one more time, I’m never going to a club with you again! I thought you said it yourself that it wasn’t connected? And now you’re blaming yourself?!”

Harry, slightly taken aback by this sudden outburst, rose his arms in a defensive manner.

“It was just a joke, relax. I don’t blame myself.” _Well, maybe a little_ , he thought to himself, but Ron didn’t need to know about that.

“It wasn’t funny, then.” Ron shook his head. “I don’t want you to withdraw again just because of this stupid night. Hermione was right, we should have never gone there.”

“Stop it, Ron!” Harry said forcefully. “I’m very glad that we did. We had fun, we relaxed, met new people. It’s all good, I was just kidding. If I were to “withdraw” again, as you put it, you will be the very first person I tell about it, okay? As for now, maybe I did lose some control, but I think it’s more for good than bad. In the end, doesn’t it mean I’m kind of over it? I didn’t freak out around people, I even got as far as kissing. I’m all right, Ron. Seriously.”

Ron looked at him sceptically, but after a while nodded his head finally. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess, it’s a good sign.”

“And now, I got to go to Snape and survive it somehow, so please wish me luck instead of yelling at me, okay?”

Ron couldn’t help the chuckle that left him, and he breathed out deeply, tension finally leaving him. “You will be alright. I have no idea how you’re doing it, but you manage to come back in one piece every goddamn time. Did you sign a pact with the Devil, or something?”

Harry laughed, answering teasingly, “Maybe I did, who knows?”

 

***

 

“Good afternoon, Professor.” Harry welcomed Snape, slipping under his outstretched arm to get into his office.

“You are late, Potter.” Snape snarled, his jaw tensed. He didn’t seem to be surprised by Harry’s boldness, though, as if he were already used to it.

“I know and I’m sorry. I...” Harry hesitated, sweeping his hand through his jet-black hair. “I had a sleep-in.”

“Of course you did.” The older man scoffed, closing the door. “There is a war going on. Everyone is risking their necks for Harry Potter and what does he do? He has a sleep-in. Predictable.”

“Oh come on. Getting on my guilty conscience, now, sir? Typical.” Harry rolled his eyes, the corner of his lips arched upward in a teasing smile.

“Careful there, Potter.” Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed. “I’d better watch that mouth of yours, if I were you.”

The retort was at the tip of Harry’s tongue, but after taking one look at his professor’s face, he decided to keep it in. Maybe it wasn’t too smart to push his luck that much. He was even surprised that he had courage to talk back so casually at all lately. And that the man let him. Maybe they really were cosying up to each other after all this time spent together.

In fact, when he thought about it, sometimes it felt as if Harry saw the man more often than his own friends. He had trouble recalling a full evening which they had spent together just talking or even studying together, except for that little trip yesterday. He was either with Snape, or in the Room of Requirements training on his own while Hermione was with McGonagall, or with Neville and Draco, since it became a norm that they were working side by side recently. Even if they managed to sit together, with Ron in the Common Room, Harry was to disappear quickly, offering his best friends some alone time, which was a luxury in the past weeks.

“Are you ready, Potter?” Snape’s voice pulled Harry out of his musings and he shook his head mentally to refocus. Hopefully, after the war, they will have all the time in the world to catch up.

“Yeah, yeah.” The Gryffindor tried a smile, but it clearly didn’t reach his eyes, as Snape furrowed his brows, watching him closely. He didn’t say anything, though and Harry welcomed that with gratitude. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk right now. Not as if he suspected that Snape cared about his friendship’s problems.

“We will try something more advanced today. You’ve managed to comprehend levitation, summoning up, locking and unlocking spells which are the very base, as you well know. It took you awhile, so I hope you reckon that power is not everything. You will achieve nothing without training and discipline. Thus “sleeping-in” is unacceptable and childish. Do you understand?”

Harry sighed, regretting that he didn’t come up with different excuse for his lateness. “Yes, sir. I’ve already told you I’m sorry.”

“You won’t be sorry when you are dead after the Dark Lord kills you.” Snape hissed, his eyes incisive.

“Could we just start already, sir?” Harry sighed again. His headache, which almost disappeared thanks to the potion, was slowly poking its head again and showing its teeth.

“We will start with Protego. At the beginning, you will try to produce a shield on your own, and when you manage that, I will proceed with an attack. You may begin.”

Harry nodded once and took a deep breath, moving to the middle of the room. He focused on making the shield, imagined its possible range, texture and shade, put all his mind into it and said the spell in his thoughts. At least, that was what had worked with his previous attempts at wandless, wordless magic. Unfortunately, it didn’t work with this one.

He tried again, this time furrowing his brows with even more focus, concentrating as hard as he could, but it had no effect either. After his third try went downhill, the frustration was probably visible on his face, because Snape spoke up;

“You are trying too hard with this. It’s different magic than summoning spells. It’s more… intuitive. It demands more focus on the actual magic rather than what the spell does.”

“Uh… I don’t understand, sir.”

“Describe to me the process which you went through with casting the previous spells.”

“Well...” Harry cleared his voice. “I would focus on the thing I wanted to summon, like a piece of paper, for example. Then I would imagine it rising up, flying up to me and landing in my hand, with great detail. And then, I would say the spell in my thoughts.” Harry said, shrugging his arms.

“So you were saying the spell, only in your mind?” Snape confirmed.

“Yes?” The boy answered, doubting now that his approach was the right one. It worked for him then, so why wouldn’t it now?

The older man sighed heavily and gestured for Harry to sit on the couch, while he occupied the armchair.

“Sit, Potter. It looks like I have more to explain than I initially thought.”

Harry did as he was told, feeling kind of stupid. How was it that Snape couldn’t do it, but still knew much more about it than Harry would probably ever know, even though potentially he was capable of achieving to cast spells in this way?

“The wandless and wordless magic is exactly that. Wandless _and_ wordless. You’re not supposed to say the words, even in your mind.”

Now Harry felt even more stupid than before. He only thought that he couldn’t say it out loud, but not say it completely? How was he supposed to cast then?

“You can make magic do what you want _without_ the words, Potter. That’s the whole concept behind it.” Snape answered his unvoiced question and Harry’s lips took on a sheepish smile. “Magic lives within you as well as it encircles you. When you use your wand and you say the spell, you simply channel it so it forms the concept you want it to. Whether it’s a summon or a shield or death even. It’s necessary for the majority of people as their power levels are deficient to make it happen without this channel. Its purpose is to simplify the process. Your level of power, however, enables you to skip this part and draw straight from raw magic within and around you. Which also means, that it’s not tamed and therefore your spells will be much stronger than any wand caster would be ever able to create. Do you understand?”

Harry wrinkled his forehead, going over the concept once again, and then slowly nodded his head.

“That’s…” He cut suddenly, overwhelmed. “That’s bloody awesome!” He then exclaimed in awe.

The corners of Snape’s lips arched upwards, and he nodded.

“It is, indeed.”

“So it kind of means that I’m a chef while other people buy ready-made meals?” He asked without thinking.

The Potion’s Master blinked at him, not being able to stop the confusion from showing on his face.

“If you could elaborate on that, Mr. Potter?” He asked, discomposure clearly present in his voice.

“Well…” Harry abashed. “The cook uses the ingredients to create a meal, right? He “draws” from the real “source” and uses it in this way which will work out later to be amazing food. People who buy ready-made meals, on the other hand, they just have to heat it up, in the oven for example. It’s a simplified way to reach the same goal – to eat, which is essential for human beings. Some do it better than the others, adding some spices into it, or other ingredients, but it will never be as good as what originally comes from the cook. Because it’s already changed in a way that can’t be unchanged. But still, the outcome is the same – food on the plate.” Harry run his hand through his unruly hair, sighing. “I’m not sure I’ve explained it clearly. It sounded much better in my head.”

Snape furrowed his brows, clearly deep in thoughts, and then something suspiciously reminding bewilderment showed on his face.

“I think I understand the concept.” He said, his voice one tone lower.

Harry did his best to ignore the shiver which went through him at this tone.

“That was… surprisingly thoughtful of you, Mr. Potter. Simple, but nevertheless thoughtful.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry said quietly, a proud smile appearing on his lips. He ignored a horde of butterflies which fluttered in his stomach at Snape’s words as well.

“So as you understand the theory behind it now, we may proceed to use it in practice. Let’s continue with the shield spell as, to the contrary of what I’ve said earlier, maybe with the way you understand this whole process, it will be easier for you.”

Harry jumped up from the sofa and stood in the middle of the room, suddenly excited to try it out.

“Close your eyes, Mr. Potter.” Snape said and the Gryffindor complied immediately. “Now, take a deep breath through your nose and exhale through your mouth. Slowly.”

Harry did as he was told, the flowing air having a calming effect on his eagerness and running thoughts.

“And again.”

Snape’s voice seemed a little closer now, and Harry had to fight the urge to lift up his eyelids to have a quick peak to see if it wasn’t just an illusion.

“Again.”

This time, he was sure that the man stood closer, and indeed, when he inhaled, the unmistakable smell of potions and dark chocolate filled his airways. It did _not_ make his heart skip a beat.

“And now, try to reach within you and find the source of your magic. The true core of your person.”

Snape’s voice washed over Harry once again, and he was almost painfully aware of the man slowly circling him around, watching him closely, and his presence behind his back was a distraction enough to prevent him from doing what Snape was asking him to. The goosebumps which appeared on his forearms were… unexpected.

“Relax, Potter. Let it spread. Feel it fill you from every little hair on your body till the last toe. Feel it radiate from right under your skin and in the same time emanate from the deepest corner of your soul. And then, form it into whatever shape you like.”

The man’s calm, deep tone was definitely _something_ that was spreading through Harry’s body. Along with the heat which it was causing. It felt as if his senses were greatly heightened, solely focused on the man behind him and the warmth which was radiating from his chest, wrapping him up so tightly that he had trouble breathing. This was driving him completely crazy, this alertness, and there was no way he would be able to reach somewhere inside of him for his magic, when everything he wanted to do, was to turn around and reach for Snape instead. When the man’s robes brushed against the younger wizard’s side, he had to bite down on his lower lip to prevent himself from moaning.

But also, he would rather die in this aroused state, than let the man know what effect he had upon him. That’s why he almost painfully forced himself to shut out the presence behind him, using his meditation skills. He muted all the stimulus from the outside world and focused solely on the inside, finding the quiet and steady alertness of his own being.

Only then he realized, that the magic Snape wanted him to find, he had discovered long time ago, only back then he had mistaken it for something completely different. The shimmering force unwinding throughout him, starting from his skin and finishing deep down in every fiber of his spirit, wasn’t just his life force. It was the magic.

The same magic which let him apparate whenever he wanted to.

That said, he was so wrong, when he thought it was only because of the wards letting him do that, and not because of his… special skills. It seemed that apparition came along with the “Witcher” package, as he came to call it.

When the understanding descended upon him, he didn’t manage to stop the gasp from leaving his mouth quickly enough.

“That’s it, Mr. Potter. That’s it.” Snape’s soft voice seemed a little breathless behind him, when it ghosted on Harry’s naked neck as the man stopped his pacing. The Gryffindor, however, was too amazed with the force flowing through his body to notice any of it. It was no wonder, then, that Hermione and Ron were unable to apparate as well.

Taking his time to relish the magic, he finally gathered up his courage and reached out to it, touching it in a daze, as if he were delicately carding his fingers through it, like water slipping through his digits. He had never felt so connected to magic before and when a single tear slid down his cheek, he wasn’t even aware of it. Instead, he tried to form the magic into the shield, surrounding him from every side, even though that wasn’t what a classic Protego spell did. It felt right, however.

“Open up your eyes now, Mr. Potter.” Snape’s voice caressed him once again and he complied, his eyelids fluttering, when the room’s bright light met his pupils. “Look.” The man reached out for his wand and cast Expelliarmus on him, which bounced off the invisible shield around Harry, disappearing quickly. Then, Snape proceeded with Confundo, Incendio, and finally Cruccio, all of them cast from different angles, while Harry only watched how they all bounce off his shield and finally vanish into thin air. Well, he was a little wary with the Cruccio one, he had to admit it.

“That’s…” Harry gasped, not being able to form his feelings into words. “I can’t even...” He tried again, but Snape interrupted him softly;

“I know.”

Harry tilted his head to the right slightly, and their eyes met, the unknown emotion passing between them, delving into the younger man’s chest; clutching his heart in an almost painful grip.

“I barely feel it on myself.” He whispered, his lips arching upwards almost involuntarily. He looked around himself, as if trying to detect any signs that it was really there, completely amazed. “It kind of surrounds me like a warm... embrace. Does it even make sense?” He shook his head and then met his professor’s dark eyes once again.

This time, however, something had changed in the man’s gaze. It wasn’t warm and understanding anymore. It was both burning and almost… predatory, making the breath inside Harry to hitch. No one had ever looked at him that way, and the shiver, which went through Harry’s body, was so sharp, that he thought his nerve-endings fried.

“It does make sense, Potter.” Snape said in a hoarse voice after what felt like eternity.

Harry felt paralyzed, not being able to look away, but also not able to make a single step and break the invisible barrier they set themselves into. He was sinking, rapidly, not quite sure if he ever wanted to emerge to the surface again. If it were up to him, he would have stayed in this intoxicating gaze, forever captured in this moment. Why couldn’t he just take one single step and lavish those thin lips, feel if their taste were as intoxicating as the man’s smell; if his tongue were as sharp as his words could be, and safe himself from this madness?

The tension was almost palpable between them and he was pretty sure that there was naked yearning present on his face, which matched the burn deep down in the obsidian orbs. The desire rose in him in hot, dense waves as he remembered his last night fantasy, when he really thought he had kissed the man.

“Snape...” he whispered, his breath suddenly quickened, matching the rapid beat of his heart. He needed to know; needed to _feel_ if this affection was reciprocated, or if it was only him who was slowly consumed by this heat – to the last bone.

But then, Snape’s eyes focused on something below Harry’s chin, his eyebrows furrowing and he was taking a step back, a scorn put firmly in place. With a sinking heart the Gryffindor felt their connection slipping away; the moment gone.

“You would be wise to be more careful in the future, Mr. Potter.” He said, his voice back to the professional one, however the tension was clearly visible in his posture.

“What…?” Harry wrinkled his forehead, completely lost.

“I highly doubt that you’d want everyone to see the signs of your last night’s tryst.”

Harry blinked at the man, the shock making him lose all the barely remaining focus, and he felt his shield fading away, leaving him with a deep sense of longing. He just wasn’t sure if it was because of this magic, or maybe that moment with Snape.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, confusion clearly present in his voice.

The man’s jaw tensed and he gestured in the general direction of Harry’s neck.

“You have a… what is it called?” He asked with faked interest. “Oh, right. A hickey.” The word fell from his mouth like a blaspheme, and Harry’s hand shot up to his collar involuntarily.

“On the other side.” Snape sneered and turned away, walking over to his desk.

 _Fuck_ , Harry thought, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to suck on his neck. He cursed himself too. And Ron to have this stupid plan to go to the club. And Charlie too, that he had agreed. Why did it have to happen today?! Every other day would have been good, but not today, when he was so close…

So close to what, exactly? He didn’t even know if Snape was gay! Maybe all of this was just his bloody imagination, which, he had to admit, could be really extensive sometimes.

“Must be such a lucky girl, to fulfill the Golden Boy’s expectations. Or maybe you don’t even remember her name, do you?” Snape’s voice was dripping with disdain. “I just hope you used the basic contraceptive. Otherwise, you will definitely find yourself expelled, with the pregnant girl as your responsibility, and even those famous privileges of yours won’t be able to stop that. Of course, if one assumed that you would have taken the responsibility.” The man huffed, clearly showing what his opinion was on what would Harry do.

“Sir...” Harry spoke up, when the first shock left his body, and he was able to find his voice. “I… it’s not what you think.” He tried, but the only response he got, was an arched eyebrow reflecting the deepness of the man’s doubt which could have been showed through such a simple gesture.

“Isn’t it now, is it?” He sneered.

“No!” Harry shook his head rapidly. “To start with,” he sighed heavily, sweeping his hand through his hair in an uncomfortable manner, gathering up his courage. “I’m gay, okay? So no girl for me.” He blurted out, avoiding Snape’s eyes. It was true that the wizarding world was very opened about those kind of relationships, but the habit of worrying how people would react to the news stayed with Harry, instilled by his Muggle upbringing.

Snape furrowed his brows, however, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Convenient, huh?” He said in a low voice.

Harry’s eyes shot up to the man’s and he realized that his professor thought that he was bluffing.

“What?! Of course not! Why would I lie about something like that?” Harry exclaimed in disbelief, completely stunned by the man’s weird behavior.

“I don’t know Potter! Maybe you tell me?” Snape asked, his eyes boreing into Harry’s.

“Well, I’m not! Lying, that is.” Harry shook his head with irritation, not quite sure why he even felt the need to explain himself. “You don’t have to believe me, Professor. I couldn’t care less.” His jaw tensed, when he tried his best to keep his temper in check. It seemed that with Snape he was capable of only two moods; either toes curling lust or blood-boiling anger. He had no idea which one of those was worse.

Snape eyed him carefully, his forehead wrinkled and eyes incisive, as if he was looking for something specific in the younger man’s posture.

“You’re serious.” He then said, disbelief clearly heard in his voice.

“Of course I’m bloody serious! If I weren’t, then why would I…” Harry cut suddenly, coming to his senses. One more word and he would be doomed forever.

“Why would you _what_ , Mr. Potter?” Snape asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, sir.” The Gryffindor shook his head, having no intention in letting the man know that he thought about him in sexual context more often than not.

Snape, however, kept his eyes on Harry, his stare intense and peering.

“Potter...” He started, but before he managed to say another word, Harry, raised his hand and interrupted him;

“Please, sir. Can we just drop it? Do you have a problem with that?” He asked, resignation and tiredness coloring his voice.

“With what?”

“With me being gay, sir.”

Snape huffed with incredulity, shaking his head. Then, he walked over to his armchair and sank on it with what could only be described as fatigue, saying;

“No, I do not have a problem with _that_.”

Harry waited if the man would say anything else, but he didn’t, simply taking up the long forgotten book, which was laying on the coffee-table.

“Your training is over for today. You may go, Mr. Potter.” He said without lifting his eyes from the text.

Harry sighed under his breath, clearly disappointed with the way this conversation turned. If he were honest with himself, he would say that he had hoped for the man to return the favor, and state his orientation as well, but now, when he thought about it, it did seem stupid. Why would Snape share something so personal with him? It wasn’t as if they were close or anything.

The sudden lightheadedness took him by surprise, and he had to take a step back to prevent himself from falling. Maybe his hangover wasn’t as cured as it seemed so previously?

“Sir? Do you mind if I rest here for a while? I...” He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “I feel kind of dizzy.”

Snape rose his eyes at him, furrowing his brows.

“Doing such magic takes lots of energy, Mr. Potter. It is to be expected. Don’t feel sorry for yourself.” He said, lowering his gaze once again.

The Gryffindor tensed his jaw, and ignoring the stab in his chest at the man’s words, he shuffled over to his bag slowly. Clearly, he was overdoing his teacher’s “hospitality”.

“However,” Snape’s voice sounded once again. “If you want, you may stay. I would find it a great sorrow to have to look for you if you decide to faint in the middle of your back route.”

Harry looked over his arm and couldn’t stop a smile from forming on his lips. He knew it was the man’s weird way of showing his concern. “And be quiet. I have work to do.”

“Of course, sir.” Harry responded, getting out a book from his bag and walking over to the sofa. He sat legs-crossed on it and relaxed into the back of the couch.

Who would have suspected that spending his Saturday afternoon like that would become one of his favorite times of the week?

 

***

 

Damn the boy.

 _Young man_ , his mind repeated at him once again.

Severus growled.

This was getting bloody ridiculous. This… craving to touch him, to feel his golden-like skin under his fingertips, to sink his palm into the jet-black hair and pull slightly, just enough to tilt his head and yank him into a deep, consuming kiss, until both of them would have been panting from the lack of air, their bodies pressed against each other, needing more. The things which Severus wanted to do to the other wizard were making his head spin and breath hitch inside his throat. He had never wanted anyone so badly and it was… disconcerting, at the very least. He really didn’t want to think that the person he lusted after was a bloody Potter. His student. What the fuck was wrong with him?

The rational part of his brain realized, that blaming himself for what his body desired was useless and rather fruitless as he had no say in it. However, what he chose to do with it, was a completely different matter. There was no doubt that everything that he felt toward Potter was just sexual. He didn’t even like the man. Maybe he didn’t hate him anymore, but that was all. Of course, he had noticed that Potter was different from what he thought of him before this term started, but it didn’t mean that he had to like him all of the sudden. He certainly didn’t like him.

The knowledge that Potter was the Witcher, however, didn’t want to stay stashed in the far corners of his mind, constantly present on the surface. He realized what that meant, probably much more than Potter did himself. Severus would be expected to accept his authority, his inner wisdom and power. Potter would be treated like Merlin of his own times, worshiped and feared in the same time. There was no doubt that some would even consider him another Dark Lord, especially those completely ignorant to the history and tradition. There was a reason why Witchers were so rare. It wasn’t only for their power, which they were born with, that marked them the way they were. It was something deeper, entwined into their spirits, something that even Severus wasn’t able to understand completely. His extended research illuminated some of the issues that he was struggling with, but there was only that much he was able to comprehend from thousand years old books or their bad copies.

When he thought about it, he realized that if he were to bed the Witcher, officially no consequences could have been drawn against him. No matter if he were Potter’s teacher, supervisor or anyone else with possible authority leverage. Because it wasn’t possible to have any authority advantage against Witchers. The hypothetical moral issue of him using Potter sexually as a person who has power over him was gone. No matter Potter’s age. If anything, it was Potter who could have been said as the one using his position to seduce Severus, as saying no to the Witcher could have been difficult, at least. Of course, if one believed that the man was capable of doing something like that and had the guts to say it to the wizard of this kind. And if Potter really wanted to have sex with Severus, which the man greatly doubted. At the end, he saw the evidence that Potter didn’t spend his nights alone. Which _did not_ make the blood inside him boil with surprising rage. He had no rights to him.

The fact that Potter was gay had been a great surprise to Severus. He assigned this sexual tension which emerged between them, as his body’s doing, which didn’t have anything to do with Potter. But now he wasn’t so sure anymore. He didn’t stop to question if it was even possible to create that kind of tension without the other person knowing about it as he did his best to avoid thinking about that at all. What if Potter felt that too? What if he was also affected by their closeness?

Severus didn’t want to imagine any of it. If he let his control slip, and it would turn out that Potter was… responsive, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore. And that could have led to a disastrous result.

The sudden thump of something hitting the floor brought him back to reality violently. He jerked up his head and fixed his eyes on a figure laying across his sofa. He wrinkled his forehead and took in the laying book at the feet of the couch, the askew glasses and steady rhythm of Potter’s chest rising and falling down. The urge to throw a cutting remark and wake up the boy died on his lips, when he noticed that it wasn’t a coincidental change of position that made the book fall down to the floor. It was a strange jerking movement of the boy’s left hand which continued to repeat in a few seconds intervals. Severus furrowed his brows, curious where it was coming from, but then the boy’s whole body jerked up accompanied by a rasping groan. That made him realize, that out of everything, the Gryffindor was about to have a nightmare in his office. Having dealt with not only his nightmares, but many of his Slytherins’, he knew that fierce waking up wasn’t in place.

Severus rose up from his armchair, walking over to the couch, and bent his knees, lowering himself so his face was at the Potter’s height.

“Potter? Potter, wake up.” He said quietly, but forcefully.

The younger man’s body only jerked once again and this time a groan formed into a word, which fell from his parted lips;

“No.”

Severus doubted that it was directed toward him, but he sighed nevertheless.

“Come on, Potter. Wake up.” He tried once again, still not touching the boy, knowing that it was the finality.

Immune to the man’s tries, Potter’s head tossed on the sofa’s armrest and he mouthed something inscrutably. It wasn’t only after few seconds passed, that the boy’s voice was loud enough for Severus to make out the words.

“No! Please! Don’t…” Potter gasped, suddenly turning on his left side and curling up as if into a ball, his knees pressed against his abdomen and his arms hugging them tightly to his chest.

“Don’t! Please, please! I will be good, please, don’t - “ the boy cut suddenly, his whole body straightening up as if something hit his back painfully. The scream which fell from his lips echoed in Severus’ head, making him grit his teeth painfully. What the hell was done to this boy that he had such nightmares?

“Potter! You have to wake up!” He said much louder this time, putting as much fierceness into his voice as he could muster. He did his best to ignore the dread which was slowly spreading through his body.

The boy only sobbed, curling up once again, his head thrashing back and forth, a frightened expression twisting his face painfully, unclear words falling frantically from his lips.

Deciding that he had had enough, Severus reached out with his hand and gripped Potter’s arm carefully, doing his best not to startle him.

“Come on, Potter. It’s okay, just a nightmare. Wake up.” He shook him delicately and finally, it had the effect he was aiming for since the beginning. The boy’s eyelids flew open, but instead of suspected relief, he backed away, a haunted look appearing on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He whispered, retreating even further, his backside flat against the back of the sofa, slipping away from Severus’s grip.

“I didn’t mean to scream, please don’t hurt me. It won’t happen again, please.” His voice was filled with fear, his eyes unfocused and even though the tears stopped from falling, their wet traces were still present on the boy’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” He repeated, hiding his face into his arms, his whole body shaking. The muted words kept falling from the boy’s lips and Severus realized that he was repeating them like a mantra, over and over again, too scared to raise his head and face him.

“I won’t hurt you. It was just a nightmare.” The older man said softly, doing his best to hide his shock at the Gryffindor’s weird behavior. Potter, however, only shook his head rapidly, still mouthing the words, as if he didn’t wake up, still emerged in a nightmare.

And that was it, Severus realized. When he recalled the memory he ripped out from Potter at the beginning of the term, he understood that the boy really did think it was all part of it. He didn’t recognize him as his teacher; he took Severus for his uncle, who was ready to punish him for waking him up with his screams. The comprehension made Severus’ blood boil inside of him with such rage, that he had to grip the armrest painfully to keep himself in control and not storm out of the room and find the man responsible of making the boy’s life a living hell. He was needed here, now.

“Harry.” He said softly, putting his hands up on the sofa in a gesture that showed that he meant no harm. “You are in Hogwarts and you are safe. I won’t hurt you, okay? You had a nightmare and I woke you up. It’s all going to be okay, you will be okay. I just need you to trust me.”

It wasn’t until at least a minute passed, silence ringing loudly in Severus’ ears, that the boy’s breathing calmed down, his body’s shivers subdued and he lifted his head, looking around, understanding finally emerging on his face. He sighed heavily and ran his hand against his face, wiping off the wet trails of his tears.

“I’m sorry, Professor, that you had to witness this.” He said finally, his voice hoarse. “I never should have fallen asleep here.”

Severus didn’t say anything, simply observing the young man.

“I will go now.” The Gryffindor lifted up his upper body and sit on the sofa, ready to get up, but his professor’s body was preventing him from doing that.

“Potter,” the man started, trying to meet the other wizard’s eyes, but he was skillfully avoiding Severus’ gaze. “Your uncle - “

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Potter cut him mid-sentence and Severus sighed heavily.

“You will have to, eventually. It will haunt you forever if you don’t.”

“Oh yeah? Then to whom _you_ are talking to about your nightmares, Professor? Don’t sell me this bullshit.”

The man’s jaw tensed, who knew that the Gryffindor was right. It was easy to advice someone, but much harder to follow those advices themselves.

“Just what I thought.” Potter shook his head, tiredness visible in his posture. “Do not concern yourself with my nightmares, sir. I highly doubt they are going to disappear anytime soon, but I can assure you that I am fine, besides them.”

Severus eyed Potter’s face closely, trying to detect if it was really true, but aside from fatigue and unease, he couldn’t read anything more out of it.

“If you say so.” He said, raising up from his crouch. Then, he took a step back, allowing Potter to get up as well, which he did. Before the Gryffindor had a chance to gather up his bag and leave the room, however, Severus grabbed his arm, making sure the grip was delicate.

“I realize, that I’m not your favorite teacher, Potter. But that doesn’t change that I’m part of the staff, and I am here for every student.” He spoke up, not really knowing where the words were coming from. “And if you were ever to find yourself in a need of an… understanding ear, you know where to find me.”

Potter rose his eyes at him, surprise clearly present on his face. But then, something strangely reminding recognition crossed his features, and he nodded his head.

“Thank you, sir.” He said and then slipped his arm away from Severus’ hand. After that, he proceeded to pick up his bag and headed towards the door, adding, “Goodnight, Professor.”

Only when the door closed behind the younger man, did Severus allow the soft, “Goodnight, Potter” to leave his mouth.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back with another chapter and I know it took me so long to write it, but I hope the wait will be worth it! Anyway, this chapter became so excessively long, during the writing process, that I've decided to cut it into two pieces. The second part I'll add in about a week, when I give it a last touch, so watch out for it! 
> 
> This part it a little slower ( it's like a preludium), but I really enjoyed it nevertheless, while the second part is really really exciting. And I do mean it.
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for the patience and all the amazing comments, and so many kudos. I'm really thrilled by your response!
> 
> Without furhter ado, have a great read!
> 
> P.S. Special thanks to Ashlee for being my amazing beta!

Harry checked his wristwatch in a hurry, quickening his pace when he noticed that it was almost nine in the morning. Last Wednesday, Snape had told him to pack a change of clothes, a toothbrush and his homework for the next week, and to turn up right after breakfast on Saturday, since they were leaving for the weekend. He didn’t say where they were going though, which was both exciting and scary.

Throughout the last few weeks, Harry realized that he couldn’t deny his attraction to the other man anymore, even if he was unable to understand it. Not to mention, explain it to anyone. Furthermore, the prospect of spending a whole weekend with the man, probably alone, was making his stomach flutter with excitement and his palms sweat from strange nervousness.

On the other hand though, he hardly expected it to be only a pleasant weekend. Harry suspected that where Snape was involved, it was always business. Who knew where they were going and what his professor required from him? The thought that the man could have betrayed him and led him to Voldemort or the Death-Eaters instead, didn’t even cross his mind anymore. He didn’t know when or how it happened, but he started to believe that the man was really working for the Light. Maybe it was because he could see how much effort and time Snape put into their training, or because of their conversations and the regret he often saw, usually for a split second on his professor’s face, when they were treading dangerous waters.

So he was rushing through the dungeons, his Invisibility Cloak wrapped tightly around his body, and doing his best to be both discreet and careful. When he finally reached Snape’s office, he had to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart before he gathered up his courage to knock at the door. The entrance opened silently even before his hand touched the dark wood, only an inch for him to slip inside, and closed the second he got in.

“Has anyone seen you?” Came Snape’s voice from the depths of the room, and only when Harry took off his Cloak and looked around, he noticed him standing by one of the furthest book shelves, his back to the Gryffindor, where he was clearly looking for something.

“No, sir.” Harry answered, proceeding to tuck his Cloak into his bag, but the man’s voice stopped him.

“Don’t put it away yet.”

Harry frowned, confused. He assumed they would be leaving by the Floo, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

“Did you tell your friends to cover up for you?” Snape asked, his index finger running quickly along the back of the books, his voice weirdly strained.

“Yes. Usually I don’t spend that much time in the Common Room anyway, so I doubt anyone will notice anything.”

“Good.” Snape answered, his finger finally stopping on one of the books, which he got out immediately. He flipped through the pages quickly, but his disappointed groan showed that it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“We will be leaving in a few minutes.” He said, putting the book back in place and renewing his seeking.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, a little uncomfortable. When he got a closer look at his professor’s back, he realized that the man was tense, his movements a little hectic, which was highly unusual for him. Consistently so organized, it was very peculiar that Snape couldn’t find a book, out of everything, in his own office.

“Sir? Is everything alright? May I help you somehow?” Harry tried, biting down on his lower lip.

The man shook his head with a silent “no”, but Harry wasn’t sure which one of his questions he answered. Deciding that it was best to leave Snape to his search for now, he perched atop the coach’s armrest, waiting patiently. He didn’t complain, though, as it was a great opportunity to observe the man, and there were some things worth the thorough observation.

To start with, Snape was dressed differently. His typical long robes were gone, replaced by dark muggle trousers. They weren’t exactly black, but more like dim navy blue, accompanied by a dark brown belt. The material looked smooth and expensive, making Harry want to run his hand along it and feel its texture underneath his fingers. Snape’s backside was perfectly underlined in those trousers, especially when he had to get on his tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, the motion which Harry greatly appreciated. To make the matters even worse, Snape wore a long-sleeve shirt, which was fitting him perfectly, bringing out his back muscles which Harry could clearly see shifting underneath the shirt when the man changed his positions. It also allowed him to see that the man really was tense, his shoulders drawn back and his scapulas close together. Overall, the sight was tempting enough that Harry didn’t even try to pretend that it didn’t affect him, desire coiling in his stomach relentlessly. If Snape planned on looking like that the whole weekend, then Harry didn’t mind doing any deed for him, even if it meant meeting Voldemort himself.

“Finally.” The man’s self-satisfied voice cut through Harry’s musings and he turned around quickly, a book triumphantly in his hand. He wrinkled his forehead, however, catching the younger wizard’s hungry look, before the Gryffindor managed to restrain himself, and one of his eyebrows lifted, almost reaching his hairline.

“Quit starring, Potter.” He drawled, his jaw tense.

Harry cleared his throat, not trusting his voice just yet, and deciding that it was better to ignore the subject, he stood up, and asked;

“Are we leaving, sir?”

Snape’s eyes sized him up with suspicion, before he shortly nodded his head, taking out his wand and with one swing, the book from his hand was gone, probably tucked somewhere in his bags, which were also nowhere to be seen.

“Put on your Cloak. We are going to apparate from outside the gates and it would be the most unfortunate if someone saw you leaving with me.”

“Of course, sir.” Harry answered and did as he was told, while Snape picked up the heavy-looking coat which was slung over the chair.

“Judging by the way you’ve managed to avoid almost every teacher during your late night trips, I take it that you know how to be discreet?” The man asked, his voice more teasing than cutting and Harry couldn’t help a small smile to appear on his face, even though his professor couldn’t see it.

“Yes, sir. I will do my best.” He answered and was almost sure that Snape was fighting a smile of his own.

The second they left the man’s office, Harry really had to do his best to not only stay as silent as possible, but to also keep up with the man, whose long legs were carrying him so fast that it really was a challenge. The castle was mostly empty, with students either having a sleep-in during the weekend, or being at breakfast, but nevertheless, the Gryffindor was extra careful. He knew that the castle’s walls had ears, no matter how familiar one became with it.

They passed the dungeons relatively event-less, except of some first year Slytherins, who quickly got out of their Head of the House’s way, with quietly thrown good mornings, which were of course reciprocated. It didn’t surprise Harry that to his own snakes, Snape could be polite, at the very least. What surprised him however, were the boys comments which they exchanged between themselves, and which they thought no one heard, not expecting Harry to be there, and misjudging their professor’s hearing.

“Was it really Snape?”

“Did you see what he wore?”

“Nah, man, it couldn’t be him. He doesn’t dress like that.”

“Didn’t you hear him? It was definitely him.”

“My sister will totally freak out when I tell her how he looked. She’s been crazy over him since her third year.”

“Oh man, that’s gross! He’s a teacher!”

The voices faded out when the boys took a turn, but it was very difficult for Harry to choke down his laughter. And to think that Snape heard it too was making the situation all that funnier. He really felt sorry for those Slytherins during their next Potions classes. And the poor sister.

“I really wouldn’t want to be in this girl’s shoes now.” Harry whispered, not being able to stop himself, but the only response he got was a “shut up, Potter,” said in a low and dangerous voice, with Snape’s mouth barely moving.

They reached the Entrance Hall finally, but before they managed to leave the castle, a voice had sounded behind them, stopping them from doing so.

“Severus! Wait up a second!” McGonagall caught up with them, or as she was thinking with Snape only, who visibly breathed out, probably trying to control his irritation.

“Minerva.” He said, turning around and facing the woman.

“Where are you heading out so early on a Saturday?” She asked, politely bowing her head with a greeting.

“Just out.” Snape answered, a frown put firmly on his face.

“No need to be so grumpy, Severus.” The woman answered, and Harry barely caught his snort. He was so happy to encounter this, while his Head of the House didn’t know he was there. He suspected that if she did know, she would act one hundred percent different.

“I have no time for a morning chit-chat, Minerva, so if you don’t have anything important, I will just...” Snape said, but before he could have managed to finish his sentence, the woman took in his appearance and her eyes visibly lightened as she interrupted him;

“Oh, Severus, are you going on a _date_?” She asked, conspiratorially lowering her voice on the word “date”, as if she thought that was forbidden. “I’m a little surprised you’ve set it so early, but everyone has their own plans, right? Who is it? You have to tell me!”

Snape growled, the sound deep in his throat and Harry was almost sure that one more second of it and he would just burst out laughing.

“It’s not a _date_ , Minerva, for Merlin’s sake. Don’t you have your business to attend to? I’m just… visiting someone.” He answered, his jaw so tense that Harry was sure it had to hurt him, looking daggers at the woman.

“Well, it’s got to be someone really special, if you’re visiting them dressed like that. Lucky folks, I have to say.”

This earned Snape’s attention, because for a split second, he looked quite pleased with himself, which didn’t escape McGonagall’s attention, but then the frown was right back in place.

“I will let you know if my _grandma_ appreciated it, thank you very much.”

“Oh! So you’re visiting Lillian, then?” McGonagall’s face brightened at that, a soft smile appearing on her face. “Pass on my greetings to her, will you? It’s been ages since I saw that woman.”

Snape inclined his head with a silent gratitude and answered,

“Of course. She will be very glad to hear from you.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Severus.” McGonagall smiled affectionately at the man, who only rolled his eyes, but it was clear that he held high respect for her. Something that Harry didn’t quite expect to see.

“Off you go now. I’m sure that Lillian won’t be very happy if you’re _late._ ” The woman said it in such tone as if it wasn’t her who stopped Snape, but the other way around, which she clearly realized, sending the man another one of her smiles and then walking away in the general direction of the Great Hall.

“One day I will kill that woman.” Snape growled under his breath and they finally left the castle. The November’s wind caught up with the man, who put on his coat quickly, which was as elegant as the rest of the man’s attire. It didn’t distract Harry enough, though, who was still rather dumbfounded after the conversation he had just overheard.

So if the man wasn’t lying, and Harry highly doubted he was, they were going to visit Snape’s grandmother, which was definitely the last thing the younger wizard had expected. When the thought finally set in, deep down in his soul Harry thanked all the almighty gods, who watched over him, that he chose to wear a shirt today instead of a hoodie, which he originally planned.

The disappointment that they wouldn’t spend the whole weekend alone, like Harry secretly hoped they would, clouded a little his sudden nervousness at the thought of this unexpected meeting.

When they reached the apparitation point, Snape, without a word, straightened out his arm, which clearly was the sign for Harry to grab it, and let the man apparate them. Harry doubted that it was the best time to tell him that he managed to do this on his own, even within the castle, especially when he got a chance to be close to the man. So he took hold of Snape’s arm, stepping probably a little too close to him than it was necessary, and let the familiar feeling of pulling spread through his body.

The first thing that Harry was stunned by when they arrived, was that he didn’t fall. Or even sway for that matter. The warm hand on his forearm was to blame for it, probably.

The second thing was the balmy wind that blew over him, ruffling his hair with a salty and refreshing taste into it, the one which he didn’t have the pleasure to come across yet. He took a deep breath, taking a handful of bitter-sweet air into his lungs, and wondered what was making it feel so... special.

“You can take off the Cloak now.” Snape’s voice sounded close to Harry’s ear and he couldn’t stop a shiver which went through his body. He did as he was told, immediately regretting his action as the moment Snape saw how close they were actually standing, he took a step back away from him, depriving the younger man of the feeling of warm body next to his.

“Why didn’t you tell me we’re going to visit your grandmother?” Harry asked, turning to face the man fully, the accusation clearly present in his voice.

“That doesn’t have to do with anything.” Snape answered, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Harry snorted, shaking his head.

“Of course not! Only that I’m not dressed accordingly, not prepared mentally, not to mention that she probably hates me!”

“And why would you assume such a ridiculous thing?” His professor folded his arms in front of his chest, in the same time raising one of his eyebrows at the younger man.

“Well...” Harry shrugged. “Let’s be honest here. She is your grandmother, a pure-blood from what I’ve gathered, and you were a Death-Eater. Her views are probably slightly different than mine.” He huffed with annoyance, hardly aware that what he was really feeling was nervousness.

Snape’s jaw tensed at Harry’s words and he looked at him with such coldness in his eyes, that despite the warm breeze, a chilly shiver went through Gryffindor’s body.

“Why would I have expected anything else from you, Potter? So quick to judge other people even before you’ve met them.” He said and turned around with one swift motion, his long coat doing the same effect as his robes would have done.

“I think it’s only natural to assume such a thing, don’t you think?” Harry called out, his palms on his hips, not doing anything to keep up with the man.

“I don’t. Now shut up and follow me.”

Harry groaned with frustration, asking himself for a thousand time, why this man had to be so bloody difficult, and why did he even tolerate it. Sensing that he wouldn’t attain anything right then, he adjusted the bag on his arm and followed the man’s footsteps. At least, the distance enabled Harry to take a good look at his surrounding in peace, and he had to admit that at best the views were worth the visit.

The rural, sandy road was leading slightly upwards, surrounded by a sea of gold wheat from both sides, stretching far, far away until it reached the borders of dark-green stain, which Harry suspected, had to be a forest. The grains were standing tall and proud, swaying delicately on the wind, rich with seed, and Harry had a weird urge to just dive into it and get lost permanently. He had never been to a village before and he was mesmerized. The smells attacking his nostrils were so different from what he was used to, so _fresh_ , that it made his head spin, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He didn’t even mind that the road didn’t seem to end, he was ready to walk it for as long as his legs didn’t give out under him. And the quiet. It wasn’t ringing in his ears, making him feel self-conscious, but calming and peaceful, and Harry felt like his previous nervousness evaporated. It wasn’t possible for anyone evil to live in a place like that, was it?

He sighed to himself and his eyes focused on his companion once again, who was at least two meters ahead of him. To his excuse, he didn’t even try to keep up with him, too lost in admiring the views.

He wasn’t fair, he had to admit it. Jumping up to conclusions like that, based on almost zero information. He didn’t know anything about this woman, but if someone had said something similar what Harry had said about Snape’s grandma, he wouldn’t be too happy either. Sighing once again, the younger wizard sped up and caught up with the other man, walking right next to him.

“I apologize, sir.” He said eventually, when he had gathered up his courage. “I shouldn’t have assumed anything about your grandmother. That was wrong of me.”

Snape glanced at him for a blink of second, but his eyes focused on the road immediately after that. He didn’t say anything, though, ignoring Harry’s words.

“It would’ve just helped me, if you had warned me beforehand where we were going and what we were going to do there. I don’t really tolerate being in the dark too well.” Harry explained calmly, deciding that honesty was the best approach with this man. He didn’t get a response either.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Harry almost forgot he had said something, getting lost in admiring his surroundings once again. Then suddenly, Snape’s deep tone broke through Harry’s thoughts;

“Apologizes accepted.”

The corners of Harry’s lips lifted up on their own accord and he looked at the man from the corner of his eye. It seemed that the peaceful surroundings also affected him, as some of the wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out, and he seemed generally calmer than earlier.

“You will be alright Potter. She’s going to love you.” Snape spoke up after some time, sighing as if letting those words fall from his lips was a painful experience for him.

Harry furrowed his brows, taken by surprise by those words.

“How can you know that?” He asked, astonished.

“I just do.” Snape’s eyes met his for a single heartbeat and Harry felt weird warmness spread through his body. He longed to touch the man, show him somehow that he appreciated what he had said, even though the Gryffindor knew it couldn’t have been easy. It had the effect, however, and Harry wasn’t nervous about the meeting anymore. The man was anything but dishonest.

They kept walking for quite some time, and it wasn’t until the sun moved from the center of the sky to hide behind the hill, that Harry could make out the railing which was spreading in both directions, seemingly without the end. Even though the views were amazing, he was glad they’ve already arrived as breakfast was long forgotten, what his stomach reminded him of loudly rumbling.

They’ve reached the gate, which was a small white-wood hatch, the same color as the railing, and Snape touched its rough surface with his palm. It opened immediately, a bright colour spreading along the length of the whole fence and Harry watched it mesmerized, as the light finally vanished.

“There must be some strong wards here.” He muttered, following Snape inside the property.

“Why do you think we had to walk all the way here instead of apparate?” The man asked, sarcasm clearly present in his voice.

Harry didn’t respond though, his focus completely stolen by what had emerged in front of his eyes. He gasped, stopping abruptly, taken aback by the beauty in front of him.

The pavement was made of brown-like bricks, which was curving in between extensive, and presumably old trees, oaks, from the look of it, which branches were almost touching the pavement itself, bending so low that Harry wandered if it was even safe. It felt surrealistic to walk for a few hours accompanied by wheat only, just to walk into a garden like that. It wasn’t even a garden, really. More like a park. He looked around and noticed that the trees were making similar alleys further along the fence, but the railing itself was covered with dark green ivy, accompanied by thick chain of deep red roses. It looked like the place from this book he once read, when he was still attending a primary school, oblivious to all the magic around him. He couldn’t recall its name, but the image brought strong memories to him, which were one of the happiest he had from his time at the Dursleys. He borrowed the book from the library, sneaked it into his cupboard and read by the weak light of the only bulb that had ever been there. That is, until uncle Vernon found out, shattered the glass with a stick from the broom and then punished him for lazying around. Still, the book itself let him enter a completely different world and forget about all his troubles even for a few seconds. Unfortunately, he didn’t get another bulb after that so his reading was strictly limited.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Harry walked further into the property, finally noticing what was hidden behind the massive branches, which dispersed in front of him, almost as if someone ordered them to do so.

At the end of the pavement stood a cottage house. It wasn’t excessively big, with two floors and a tower by the left wall, overlooking the whole house, but its décor was breath taking. The inclined rooftop was also covered with ivy, which long vines were hanging from the edge, almost reaching the line of top floor windows. The dark brick looked old, but tended and Harry realized that from what he could tell, the house might as well be hundreds or just one year old. The roses were also present there, their stems climbing up the front wall, as well as the porch, some free of flowers, with red, pink or vanilla custard petals gathered at the bottom of the wall. It looked stunning and Harry was suddenly very grateful that Snape had brought him there. No matter what happened, he got to see something so beautiful, that everything else simply became completely irrelevant.

“Come on, Potter. You can have a walk later.” His companion’s voice brought him back to reality, and Harry realized he was gaping with his mouth literally opened, so he shut them up immediately, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, it’s just...” He started, but then a warm hand grasped his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“I know. Believe me or not, my reaction was quite similar.”

Harry turned his face slightly, meeting the gaze of his professor, and smiled.

“Well, it’s quite hard to believe, sir. I’ve never taken you for an admiring the views type of man.”

“I do appreciate nature, Potter. Don’t forget I’m a Potions Master and most of the ingredients are natural.” Snape rose one of his eyebrows at him, seemingly thinking that Harry was an idiot for overlooking something so obvious.

“Right.” Harry shook his head, a smile never leaving his lips and proceed right after his professor, who was already almost climbing up the stairs. When Harry joined him on the porch, Snape knocked a few times at the wooden door, his hand hesitating just for a second, but still long enough for Harry to notice, and the Gryffindor realized that again, the man was nervous. He was curious where it was coming from. At the end, who was nervous about visiting their own grandmother?

The door opened almost immediately and an older woman appeared in them, her form shadowed, so that Harry couldn’t work out too many details about her. From what he could see, however, she had completely white hair, which was falling in waves, hugging her long neck gracefully, and was rather tall as for a woman, not more than just few centimeters shorter than him. It seemed that height ran in this family.

“Severus, my dear child! Come in, come in. I was expecting you a little earlier, though, I must admit.” She said, inviting them inside with a gesture, and stepping away as to make place for them. Harry closed the door behind himself and before he had a chance to say anything, the woman spoke again;

“And you must be Harry Potter! Of course, Severus wrote me that he was going to bring some company with himself and I have everything prepared for his guest. Fika!” The woman called and in an instance a house-elf appeared by her side. “We will have dinner in thirty minutes. Please, make everything ready in the living room.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The elf bowed and disappeared immediately.

Harry cleared his voice, finally sensing his opportunity to introduce himself;

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame.” He bent his head slightly, with a greeting, but then he was encircled by a pair of warm arms and he realized the woman was hugging him.

“No need to be so formal, Harry. Call me Lillian, please. And likewise, of course.” She held him on an arm’s length, her dark eyes, strangely very familiar to him, roamed over him carefully. “What a handsome man you’ve become, Harry. You’ve manned up, that I can tell for sure.” Her warm smile was contagious, even if the Gryffindor was slightly uncomfortable with all this attention. He had no idea if this woman knew him already, but then he remembered that, like it or not, everyone got their hands on some Prophet issue, through the course of their lives.

She let him go finally and turned over to Snape, who got the same treatment as Harry, which made the man probably even more uncomfortable than the younger wizard.

“Good afternoon, Gran.” He greeted her finally, when he managed to slip from her embrace.

“Don’t you think that it’s been way too long since you’ve visited your old woman?” She asked, raising one eyebrow at him, which again strongly reminded Harry of the same gesture, but made by her grandson. “And even today, it’s only because you have some hidden interest!” Lillian put her arms akimbo, looking disapprovingly at the older man, a humorous glint present in her eyes.

The corners of Snape’s lips lifted up, and he shook his head, a little uneasy.

“I wish I could visit more often, Gran. You know that.”

The woman waved her hand at him and invited them further into the house.

“I will show you your rooms upstairs, where you can freshen up, and then we will have dinner. I’m sure you’re both hungry after this long walk.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Harry said, smiling at her, but the woman only shook her head disapprovingly.

“I’ve told you to call me Lillian, my boy. It makes me feel so old when you refer to me in such a formal way.”

The Gryffindor smiled sheepishly, a little taken aback by the warm welcome and the energy their host was emanating with. He definitely was wrong about her before.

They walked the stairs up to the first floor, where second door to the left turned out to be his bedroom. The place was spacious, kept in warm, crème colours and had the most beautiful view Harry came across in his whole life. His window was coming out on the park he had previously seen, with the amazing look at the setting sun, that Harry regretted he was about to spend just one more day in this place. If he had his way, he would gladly spent the rest of his life here.

“You have beautiful garden, Lillian.” He spoke up, looking out, mesmerized. “And home of course too. I wish I had grown up here.”

“Thank you, Harry.” The woman responded, but when the young wizard turned over to look at her, she was looking at Snape, with somehow saddened expression in her eyes. A blink of an eye later it was gone, and she proceeded to the room slightly further in the corridor, which was her grandson’s bedroom.

“Your usual room, Severus.” She told him, and he nodded his head at her, thanking her wordlessly.

“I will leave you to it then, my boys. Harry, the bathroom is on the right from your door, and the towel is on your bed. If you have any problems, call for Fika and I’m sure she will be delighted to help you.” Lillian said, sending them another one of her smiles, and disappeared on the staircase.

 

 ***

 

When Harry descended downstairs, after taking a very quick shower, Snape had already been there, going through some book in the sitting room. The inside of the cottage looked pretty much as Harry expected it to, after seeing the outside. The rooms were very well-kept, but rather traditional, even old fashioned. Harry didn’t mind it at all though, as warm colors, wooden furniture and a lot of photographs placed around the house were making it feel very warm and welcoming. If he didn’t know, he would still have said that it was someone’s grandma’s home.

“Sir?” Harry asked from the entrance, walking in hesitantly.

“Sit, Potter.” Snape said, inviting him with a gesture, as if he knew he was hovering in the doorway for a while now. “You’re probably wondering why we came here.” He added, and Harry couldn’t help the amused smile from appearing on his face.

“Yeah, pretty much since we left Hogwarts, sir.”

Ignoring Harry’s hidden complaint, Snape just closed the book he was presumably reading, and turned it around for the younger man to see.

“Do you know what this it?” He asked, his voice heavy, as if he was forcing himself to stay calm.

Harry frowned, focusing on the title, but the only word that was written there, held no meaning to him.

“ _Praeditus_?” He asked, and then shook his head. “No, I’ve never seen this book.”

Snape nodded once, not slightly surprised.

“It means “gifted” in Latin.” He explained, brushing the cover with so much tenderness, that Harry wondered how much it was actually worth. Taking a better look, he would never say that it was some precious piece, seeming like any old, written in Latin book. Nothing extra ordinary, no blood stained pages, no traces of old curses, not even a scary picture on the cover. He saw weirder books in the Restricted Section in Hogwarts.

“So what it so special about it?” He asked, when Snape didn’t continue.

“Open it.” The man said, pushing the book on Harry’s lap. “But be careful. It’s more than thousand years old.”

Harry’s eyes shot to Snape’s in surprise, who simply encouraged him to do as he said with his head. The gryffindor expected it to be old, but that old? Now, he was even stressed to open it, let alone see what was written there. He looked at Snape again, who was sitting very tense next to him, what couldn’t be explained by his worry for the book alone, especially that the younger man saw him like that for the biggest part of the day. His eyes seemed focus on Harry’s hands alone and the gryffindor had the feeling that one more second and he would start fidgeting in his sit. Ignoring this peculiar behavior, he rose the cover anxiously, taking a peek at the second page.

“And? Can you read it?” Snape asked urgently, his voice almost aggressive.

“Well… not really.” Harry answered, unsure what the whole fuss was about.

“You can’t read it?” The man inquired, shock clearly present in his voice. “Are you sure?”

Harry rose his eyes from the book, meeting his professor’s beaten gaze and shrugged his shoulders.

“Sir, it’s in Latin. I don’t understand a word.” He said then calmly.

Snape blinked at him, for a single second a raw confusion present on his face, before he tensed his jaw almost painfully, his onyx-black eyes suddenly burning with anger.

“You stupid boy! I didn’t ask if you _understand_ what’s written there, but if you can _read_ it. Do you see a bloody difference?”

Harry, slightly taken aback by this outburst, shook his head with annoyance and shut the book soundly.

“What’s the point if I can read it, if I don’t understand any of it?!”

Snape got up from the couch abruptly, irritation radiating from him in waves. He pinched his nose in a distressed manner, sighing heavily, as if Harry was the biggest idiot ever.

“The point is,” he said finally, when he calmed down a little. “That I can’t read it. _Nobody_ can! It’s only blank pages.”

Harry furrowed his brows, opening the book once again, not understanding.

“But...” He hesitated. “How is it possible?”

Snape sighed again, suddenly visibly tired and sank on the sofa once again.

“Turn it to the other side and read what’s written there.”

Harry did as he was told, squinting his eyes, only to gasp when he made out the words.

“ _Census de Godric Gryffindor_.” He read out loud, not believing his eyes. “I don’t need to know Latin to understand it.”

Snape huffed, not amused.

“Do you understand now, why only you can read it?” He asked then, his voice calm and collected, looking at Harry with some unidentified emotion.

“Because I’m the Witcher, just like he was.”

Snape nodded and broke the eye-contact, his gaze getting lost in the flames of the opposite wall’s fireplace.

“So you weren’t sure, then.” Harry more stated than asked, not being able to hide his surprise.

“I was, more or less.” His professor shrugged. “But this is the most objective proof. Seeing that, no one can check if you’re really sensing the magic cores or healing them, and that it was theoretically possible to have such power to do wandless, wordless magic without being a Witcher, reading that book is basically irrefutable. So I had to check.”

“That’s why you were so stressed this morning. You were worried I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

Snape looked at him from the corner of his eye, taken aback.

“You’ve noticed.”

“Of course, I noticed! It was plain obvious.” Harry rolled his eyes, a smug expression on his face.

The corners of Snape’s lips lifted, and he reached with his hand to do something, which Harry never found out was, because then with a loud pop, a house-elf appeared in the room, ruining the moment. The man lowered his arm on the sofa, just inches from where Harry’s thigh was placed. The younger wizard irked to move just slightly, and feel the warmness of Snape’s fingers, but didn’t dare to move.

“Ma’am is asking for yous to dinner.” Fika said, and disappeared as quickly as she arrived.

Harry sighed, cursing the elf in his mind, even though his rumbling stomach definitely appreciated the sentiment.

“Let’s go, Potter.” Snape said, raising up from the sofa quickly, as if he himself was surprised by what he wanted to do just seconds ago. “It doesn’t fit to be late in your guest’s house.”

Harry nodded, and sighing heavily, followed Snape out of the room. The dinner be better worth it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here comes another chapter and I know I've promised that I'd have updated sooner, but in the middle of the road I got sick and wasn't able to finish it. However, it also allowed me to polish it later on and this is the effect. I hope you will all like it, just like I do, and I can't wait to hear your opinions! 
> 
> Thanks to amazing Ashlee for beta'ing it for me!
> 
> I've reached 15000 hits, what is totally amazing, and I'd like to thank all of you for how incredible you are. You have no idea how happy it makes me feel, when I see your comments and your response to this story. 
> 
> Now, without further ado, have great time reading!

The table was already set, when Harry entered the living room right after Snape. The man seemed familiar with his surroundings, meaning that he had to be a rather frequent guest in the house, thus the Gryffindor wondered what his past was like. Seeing that Lillian wasn’t the kind of person to banish her own grandchild, how was it possible that Snape ended up among the Death Eaters? Where was she all those years when he struggled in Hogwarts with bullies and, presumably, with his own demons? It was all very strange, and Harry hoped that at least some of his questions would find answers to during the weekend.

“We will go over Godric’s book tomorrow and copy the most important parts. There are spells for translating foreign languages, you should have known that. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to transport the book itself. The wards on it are too strong, besides it’s too dangerous to…” Snape’s voice faded out gradually as Harry slowly walked over to the window, not believing his eyes. He had noticed the view the first second he walked into that room. It wasn’t possible for one house to be situated in such place, was it? To have everything – countryside, park, garden, and...

“Are you even listening to me, Potter?” His professor’s annoyed tone cut through finally, but Harry ignored him, still too shocked to answer. “What are you staring at like that?” Snape ambled over to him and stood behind his back, trying to find out what was the matter with him. “You’re acting as if you’ve never seen a sea before.”

“I have, but it was long time ago.” Harry answered softly.

“You’ve only been by the sea once?” Snape asked, honest surprise present in his voice.

“Yeah. When uncle Vernon tried to escape from my Hogwarts’ letters.” The younger wizard snorted with laughter, but it lacked the usual humor. “He attempted to burn all of them, but when they kept coming, he got us on this deserted little island, hoping that none would reach me there. Fortunately, not even a storm was able to stop Hagrid from delivering it to me. He was the very first person to tell me that I was actually a wizard.” Harry smiled to himself, when the picture played itself in his mind. That was definitely one of his the most happiest memories, and the one he was very grateful for.

“Petunia didn’t tell you that?”

Harry shook his head, scoffing with disdain.

“No. Both of them told me that my parents died in a car accident, and that I was the only survivor. If they had their way, I would have never found out.”

Snape fell silent behind him, his presence strong and reassuring. The dark blue sea below the house was calm, with waves reaching the shore softly, and Harry was almost sure that if he had tried hard enough, he would be able to hear them crushing against the coast. They stood like that – gazing out at the sea, both lost in their own thoughts, until a voice sounded behind them;

“Admiring the views, are you?” There was a smile present in Lillian’s voice and Harry turned around quickly, a little embarrassed at being caught in such situation.

“I was just telling Potter that he might go and have a walk by the sea after dinner.” Snape said, walking over to one of the upholstered chairs, and pulling it out slightly for his grandmother to sit. Harry looked up at his professor, surprised, but was only met with an arched eyebrow and a challenge in those onyx eyes.

“Only if you accompany me, Professor.” He answered, the corners of his lips lifting up on their own accord.

“Of course he will!” Lillian beamed, turning around slightly to look at Snape. “And don’t even argue with me, my boy. Fresh sea air will do you good.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” The man rolled his eyes and occupied the chair next to his grandma, while Harry took the one opposite to them.

When all of them settled, Lillian knocked gently at the square, brown, wooden table with her index finger, and a second later plates filled with different kinds of food appeared at it, the smell spreading momentarily.

“It looks absolutely delicious, Lillian.” Harry said, eager to try out everything at once, but finally deciding on fish, which looked like bream to him.

“Enjoy your meal then.” Lillian answered with a smile. “Severus, pour us some wine, would you?”

The man complied, filling their glasses with white liquid, which perfectly fitted to their seafood.

“A toast is in order then, isn’t it?” The woman reached for her goblet, rising it slightly, and then looked at Harry with devious expression, her dark eyes glistening and penetrating;

“To the Witcher in my house.” She said, her tone rich with boldness.

The Gryffindor gulped visibly, doing his best not to choke on his food, which suddenly stuck in his throat.

“I don’t understand.” He said finally, his voice much calmer than he actually felt, with his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. He could feel how his cutlery sticks to his skin due to his abruptly sweaty hands.

“There is only one book in my library that can’t be moved, and Severus would never bring anyone to this house if he could have prevented it. I know my grandson and I can tell when he’s nervous, or pleased for that matter. He definitely was the first one when you arrived, and the latter when I’ve entered this room. Conclusions are pretty obvious, aren’t they?” Lillian explained calmly, sipping her wine, a knowing expression never leaving her stare.

Harry searched for Snape’s eyes, whose jaw was tense, and gaze burning. It was hard to tell if he was cursing his own carelessness, or was amazed by his own grandmother. The younger wizard decided that it was the latter.

“Now I understand where you got your intellect from, Professor.” He said then, leaning back in his chair slightly, lips arched in an impressed smile.

Lillian laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Charming as ever, aren’t you Harry?” She said and then reached out with her hand so that Harry could clink their glasses, which he did momentarily.

“Gran, if you could keep this information to yourself, we would really appreciate it.” Snape voiced out finally, when he seemed to snap out from the first shock.

“Of course, Severus. Even if such information would definitely cheer lots of hearts.”

“It’s too early yet...”

“I know. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a single soul.” She interrupted him, waving her hand in a dismissive manner. “Now tuck in, before all this food gets cold.”

Still bewildered, Harry resumed his eating, which was as delicious as it smelled, with delicate pieces of fish literally melting inside his mouth, accompanied by subtle, but evident taste of lemon.

“Has Severus showed you some of my photo albums?” Lillian asked, changing the topic, presumably to clear the room from the serious atmosphere.

“Gran...” Snape started, his voice tense and apprehensive, preventing Harry to answer the question.

“Well, I’m sure Harry would love to see them. In the end, there are a lot of photos of Lily.” Lillian guessed what the answer was, and Harry’s head shot up at her response. He looked at his professor curiously, whose grimace was clearly telling him, that he wasn’t comfortable with the topic.

“We have more pressing matters than some photos, Gran.” Snape answered, annoyed.

“Don’t be like that, Severus.” Lillian reprimanded him, her eyebrows pursed, close to one another. “Photos are meant to be looked at, and not tucked somewhere under the bed. What was the point in taking them in the first place, then?”

Her grandson sighed heavily, but then nodded his head shortly.

“Fine.” He grunted, undoubtedly displeased by the situation.

“Perfect!” Lillian didn’t seem to care that she was making her grandson uncomfortable, her contentment audible in her voice. “I’m sure Lily would love that as well.”

“Can we change the topic already?” Snape asked, his teeth gritted together.

“Of course, my dear boy. How about you tell me how is dear Liam doing? You haven’t spoken about him for a while now.” Lillian seemed genuinely concerned, as she looked at Snape obliquely. The man tensed even more than before, his eyes burning with unidentified emotion, as he swallowed his food with visible difficulty.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him recently.” He answered shortly, and then jumped up from his chair suddenly, saying:

“We better hurry up before it gets completely dark, Potter. Meet me outside in ten.” He left the room abruptly, not waiting for any response, his plate half finished.

Lillian looked after him with saddened expression in her eyes, and then sighing, turned to look at Harry again.

“I’m sorry for him. He gets rather agitated when I ask him about his love life.”

Harry blinked at her, dumbfounded.

“Excuse me?” He asked, not sure if he even heard it right.

The woman wrinkled her forehead, clearly as confused as he was, but then a slightly panicked expression appeared on her face.

“Merlin’s beard! He didn’t tell you, did he? He’s such a private person, but I was so confident that with you being his trainee and your past in general...” She sighed heavily, shaking her head with regret. “That is definitely something I shouldn’t have told you without his knowledge. Excuse me, Harry.” She got up from her sit quickly, but still gracefully, and was gone from the room in a blink of an eye.

Harry leaned back in his chair, shocked and uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened there, but when he analyzed the situation once again, there was no doubt that Lillian had just told him that… Snape was gay? Or at least bisexual, for that matter.

The awe which flooded his veins at that was so great, that Harry thought he would burst out with the feeling, his hands slightly shaking and his throat closing up with relief. Snape was attracted to men. So Snape could have been attracted to him. Eventually.

Harry grabbed his glass and drunk the contents with one big gulp, his eyes watering at the sudden burn of alcohol in the back of his gullet. He needed all the courage possible if he was going to face the man after such revelation, even the fake one. Deciding that Lillian wouldn’t mind if he didn’t finish his meal, he got up from his sit and left the room, heading upstairs. He was going to meet Snape for their walk, but he had to go there prepared.

 

*** 

 

The air outside was much warmer than Harry had expected it to be. The sun was almost completely set, with only dark orange strains present, slowly turning into coral and giving enough light, that he was able to make out a person standing by one of the trees. Constraining his nervousness, Harry walked down the stairs and strolled over to his professor, who was watching the park calmly.

“Ready, Potter?” He asked, looking at him from the corner of his eye, and not waiting for the response, started walking down one of the alleys.

Harry followed him silently, a little surprised by this collected behavior, but wasn’t going to question it. Evidently, Snape wasn’t making such a big deal out of his different orientation as Lillian had expected him to do, what was both understandable and relieving.

The end of the alley finally dissolved into the cliff, which was towering over the sea shore. When Harry took a better look, he realized that the house itself was also partially standing on this hill, making it look as if it was hovering above the sea. Looking down, he noticed that hiding from his view was a narrow, but lengthy strip of sand, forming a beach, and he longed to bury his toes in its softness. The balmy wind was ruffling his hair once again, and only then he grasped why it felt so different against his skin. The salty taste, which he didn’t remember from when he was eleven, seemed both humid and refreshing.

They walked down the steep, wooden stairs, which were creaking slightly under their weight, and finally found themselves on the beach. Immediately, Harry proceeded to take off his shoes, something that Snape didn’t follow to do.

“I wanted to do this since the first second I saw the sand.” Harry voiced out, pleasure clearly present in his voice as he walked barefoot next to his professor.

“Unfortunately, the sea is too cold for us to swim.” Snape responded, his voice neutral.

“I can’t swim anyway.” Harry shrugged his arms, doing his best not to be bothered by this thought.

“Oh, right.” Snape huffed, but the Gryffindor didn’t know where the annoyance was coming from. In the end, it wasn’t his fault that the Dursleys didn’t teach him.

They walked silently for a few minutes, with waves crashing and seagulls’ cries as their only companions, when suddenly Snape asked;

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that your relatives were neglecting you?”

Taken aback by this sudden question, Harry tightened his jaw. Even after accepting what had happened, he hated to talk about it, especially when he was really enjoying himself. Fighting with his urge to avoid the answer, he took a deep breath and responded;

“Firstly, I was too overwhelmed by everything. All I ever knew were the Dursleys and how they treated me, with the rest of the muggle world not that much different. And then, all of the sudden, I found myself in a completely different universe, where I was famous for something that I didn’t even remember nor understood completely. People were treating me as if I were an egg, ready to shatter from the slightest trip, and I had no intention in disappointing them, that their Golden-Boy wasn’t all that perfect.” Harry snorted humorlessly, rolling his eyes. “Later, I was too afraid that if they found out, they would take magic away from me. I was convinced, that it was all my fault, that there had to be something wrong with me, if my own family treated me the way they did. So I thought that without anyone knowing I could pretend to be normal and no one would ever realize what a freak I was. In the end, it didn’t really matter because the papers always wrote what they wanted and people talked what they wanted, despite my best efforts. When I got older, I just stopped caring.” He shrugged his arms, surprised by how opened he was with Snape. Of course, he left out a lot of details, but his professor didn’t need to know about that.

“It’s not possible to just ‘stop caring’.” Snape responded, his voice heavy with something that Harry couldn’t name. “You didn’t stop caring. You’ve just accepted that no matter what you did, you’d never be good enough.”

The younger man stopped abruptly, sudden anger emerging inside his chest.

“Don’t you dare to tell me how I felt.” He said then harshly, tension radiating from him in waves fixing his eyes on the onyx-black ones, which were as piercing as ever.

“The fact that what I’ve said made you mad only proves my point.” Snape answered, surprisingly not letting Harry to provoke him. “All you ever knew was blaming yourself. For how your relatives treated you, for how magical world treated you, for what was happening around you, since you got to Hogwarts. Hell, you probably even blamed yourself for your parents’ death, didn’t you? So don’t bullshit me with saying, that you ‘didn’t care’.” The man shook his head with irritation, however his voice stayed calm and even.

Harry’s chest tightened at his professor’s words, despite the anger taking a notch up. Even if Snape was right, he had no right to throw it into his face like that. It didn’t even matter anymore as Harry was long over it. He knew he was wrong back then. He hoped that he knew better now. Before he got a chance to say anything, however, Snape spoke up once again, his voice suddenly becoming harsh and urgent, as if he was afraid he would change his mind and back down from what he wanted to say;

“Do you know why I never brought anyone to this home? Do you think that I was ashamed of introducing them to my grandmother? I assure you, that wasn’t the reason.” He scoffed, the mere thought seeming so absurd that even ridiculous. “I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone crossing this threshold. It was always my safe place. The only place where I had remotely happy memories from my childhood. And thus, I never felt as if I was good enough for anyone to be with them to that level, that they would care enough to meet this place. It was a messed up logic, but it was making sense to me back then. When I got it right finally, and realized that was very idiotic of me, I was way too deeply involved with both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore to develop a safe, meaningful relationship. Because of my stupidity and cowardice, my grandmother never got a chance to meet anyone that I loved, and as it doesn’t look like my position is going to change any time soon, she probably never will. Don’t make my mistakes, Potter. Don’t let your past eat you alive. You might have gone through a lot of things in your life, but it doesn’t mean that they have to define you, and that you have to keep up your guard all the time. Let people in. Not everyone is out there to screw you over.”

Harry stood as if struck by lighting, too shocked to work up a single word. He didn’t expect something like that from Snape, out of all people. He didn’t even realize that the man was capable of such feelings. Suddenly, it was much easier for him to understand his sourness and withdrawal. This man sacrificed everything in his life, thinking that there was no way back for him, along with his happiness. He lost hope for normality. Harry’s heart ached for this man.

“Professor...” He started, not sure what to say. He tried his best not to let any of his feelings be visible on his face, when he finally found his voice. “Thank you, sir.” He said then, looking honestly at the man, whose eyes, burning with intensity just seconds ago, got back to their usual indifference. “I will do my best to remember it.”

Snape simply nodded his head and turned around. Before he walked away, though, he added;

“Don’t wander behind the wards and don’t stay here too long. Gran will kill me if I don’t show you those photos tonight.”

The corners of Harry’s lips arched upwards, when he answered;

“Of course, sir.”

He wasn’t sure if the man heard him however, his back quickly retreating, and his words carried away by the wind.

 

***

 

The second time Harry entered Lillian’s sitting room that evening, it was empty. He expected Snape and his grandma to be sitting there, catching up, but they were nowhere to be seen. Taking a quick look at the clock, he realized it was after ten already. He hoped he didn’t come back too late.

When Snape left him on the beach, Harry had so many different thoughts inside his mind that to work through them took him some time. He regretted that he didn’t say anything more after his professor’s speech. It felt as if he should have said something. Something meaningful or uplifting, he wasn’t sure what. Just something. But he had never been good with talking, mostly showing his intentions and thoughts through actions. He believed they meant much more than words. He had been lied to way too many times already to learn this lesson.

Just when Harry was about to leave the room and look for Snape upstairs, the man walked through one of the doors.

“You took your time.” He noticed, walking over to one of the cabinets and taking out a bottle with golden liquor inside, along with two glasses. “Gran asked me to pass on her goodnight to you.”

“Thank you.” Harry answered softly, settling on the couch and taking the glass from Snape’s hand. Their fingers brushed for a second and the younger wizard had to grasp the goblet tighter in his hand as to not drop it. Snape left his drink on the table and walked over to one of the shelves, which were surrounding the room. All of them were packed with different kind of books, and Harry guessed that if he tried, he would find something interesting on every topic. It was clear, that being organized, Snape also took on from his mother’s side. It was really amazing to watch how different and similar they were with his grandma in the same time.

“I’m not sure if you knew it, but I met your mother before Hogwarts.” Snape spoke, crouching down at one of the shelves. “We were living in the same neighborhood and became friends when we were six or seven. I invited her to visit Lillian with me during the summer once, and miraculously her parents agreed. I think we were nine or ten back then. Those photos are mostly from this time.” He put out two albums from one of the lowest shelves and walking over to Harry, handed them to him. “There are also some when we were older, I think that Lily sent them to Gran later on. They became quite good friends despite the age difference. Your mother had this way of winning people over. Before you knew it, she had you wrapped around her finger.” The man’s lips arched upwards in a shadow of a smile.

Harry opened one of the albums, feeling his heart ache at Snape’s words. He didn’t even know his mother, remembered her only from the memories Dementors brought forth, but still he longed for anything connected to her.

The first photo consisted of two children, sitting close to one another on the wooden floor, leaning over some book. Their heads were so close that it seemed their red and black hair were blending together, becoming one. The girl was pointing at something with her finger, while the boy was presumably reading what was written there. Then suddenly, they turned around and smiling at Harry, waved their hands shortly, only to turn back and resume their reading. Harry had a weird feeling that he was interrupting them in something very important, whatever that might have been for a nine year old children. He smiled to himself and turned the page over, another photo emerging in front of his eyes. This time, the two were accompanied by slightly older girl, maybe eleven or twelve from the look of it. All of them were standing next to each other, facing the camera, their hands on each others shoulders.

“Who is this?” Harry asked, pointing at the other girl, whose brown hair was gathered together in a long braid. She had brilliant blue eyes and a pleasant smile, but due to her slightly longer nose and sticky-out ears, she wasn’t as beautiful as Lily.

Snape sat on the couch next to Harry, and leaned over his shoulder to see the picture better. Their bodies were almost pressed together and the younger man had to bite the inside of his cheek to not shiver.

“That’s my sister, Rae.” Snape answered, his breath caressing the back of Harry’s neck. “She’s just finished her first year in Hogwarts during those holidays.” The man seemed to get lost in thought, and then he huffed with consternation. “I completely forgot she was here then, for a few weeks.” He moved back, relaxing in the back of the couch, and Harry was very glad that he did. He wasn’t sure he could bear the man’s such closeness for much longer without embarrassing himself somehow.

“I didn’t know you have a sister.” Harry said, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t give out what Snape’s presence was doing to his body. He tilted his head to the right slightly, so he could look at the man, who only shrugged.

“I do.”

Seeming that his professor wouldn’t say much more on his own, Harry pressed;

“What is she like?”

The man took a sip from his glass, before he answered, his look becoming distant, as if he was trying to recall a forgotten memory;

“She is… tenacious, controlling and has twisted sense of humor.”

Harry huffed, turning back to the album, murmuring under his breath;

“Kind of reminds me of someone.”

Snape laughed, the sound deep in his throat, and Harry’s head whirled right back to look at him. It was amazing to see the man so relaxed next to him, his usual wrinkles faded away and the smile making his face look almost handsome in some different, captivating way.

“I guess you’re right, Mr. Potter.” He said then, smirking. He rose his glass, but before his lips touched the curvature, he offered for Harry to clink it with his.

“To honesty.”

Harry drank to that, the burning taste of alcohol spreading along his throat with thrill. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Snape, who dropped one of his arms on the sofa’s backrest, and was mixing the liquor inside his glass lazily. He seemed so… different. Content.

“There are more photos there.” Snape gestured with his head at the album, catching Harry’s gaze, who turned around quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring.

“Right.” He murmured, and turned the page.

The next picture showed Lily and Lillian sitting on a blanket; calm, navy sea behind them. They were talking about something, and when they noticed Harry looking at them, they just winked at him and put their heads closer together, as if they were exchanging some gossips.

“They used to do that a lot.” Snape spoke up, his voice surprisingly soft. “Talk in hushed voices, making sure no one could overhear them. It annoyed me at first. I was jealous by how easy it was for Lily to connect with my own grandmother. But then, she told me Lillian was telling her some fairytales, and I thought that was beneath me. Your mother was very… romantic. She loved to read fantasy books and dream about some prince who would fall in love with her and take her to his castle.” He rolled his eyes, a tender smile never leaving his lips. “Too bad the only Prince she knew, turned out to be gay.”

Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. So what Lillian accidentally slipped out was true. Snape was gay and now he said it straight into Harry’s face. The Gryffindor dropped his head as if to look at another photo, but in reality he had to hide his expression from his professor’s searching look. It wouldn’t do if the man saw how happy he was at hearing that.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Snape continued, oblivious to what was happening in Harry’s mind. “She was a very strong and independent woman. She liked to say that the said prince wouldn’t be able to put up with her for long time anyway, because she wouldn’t let him push her around or just “look beautiful”, but would manage the whole castle on her own.”

Harry smiled to himself, imaging his mother saying the exact words. She reminded him of Hermione and he promised to himself to tell his best friend this story.

Two glasses later, Harry finally closed the last album and put it on the table, on the top of the previous one. He leaned back and relaxed into the back of the couch, comfortable silence wrapping him in. His head was slightly spinning, but he enjoyed the feeling as it was mixed with fulfillment. He didn’t feel so close to his mother in a very long time, and even if the photos were only a substitute for her, he was grateful to have at least that.

“Thank you, sir.” He said finally, turning his head to look at Snape. The man kept telling him stories about Lily throughout the whole evening and Harry couldn’t express how much he appreciated it. Their eyes met and the Gryffindor thought that for a blink of second he saw raw, burning hunger in those black depths, but then it was all gone, replaced by warmness. Still, it made his heart flutter inside his chest and he wished that the man would look at him like that more often.

“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Potter.” He said then, taking the last gulp from his glass.

“You know, you could just call me Harry. We’re not in Hogwarts. Besides, I’d prefer that.” The Gryffindor tried, the alcohol adding a little to his sudden bravery.

The man just kept staring at him, his intense gaze difficult to interpret, but he didn’t answer.

“Actually, I could just require you to do that. At the end, I’m the Witcher. You should be listening to me.” Harry added teasingly, the corners of his lips lifting upwards to show Snape that he was joking.

“The day I obey anything you say, will be the day of my fall.” The man said, his voice deep and husky, caressing Harry’s nerve endings. Such voices should have been forbidden.

“Don’t tempt me, Professor. I might just have something up my sleeve.” Harry responded, drawing out the words, his eyes never leaving Snape’s. The man’s gaze darkened, filling with something luring and magnetic, making Harry’s heart speed up rapidly. Then, he slowly leaned forward, his musky smell invading Harry’s nostrils, the closeness making the breath inside his throat hitch.

“I don’t think so, Potter.” He said, his voice barely above whisper. His breath ghosted on Harry’s ear long after he backed away and rose from the couch.

“It’s late and we have a lot of work tomorrow. You should go to sleep.” Snape brought out his wand from his pocket and with a swish, the empty glasses were gone, and the albums put themselves back in place.

Harry, a little taken aback by this sudden change, got up from his sit and followed his professor out of the room. They climbed up the stairs quietly, but there was definitely noise in Harry’s head, who just couldn’t shake off the tension from his body.

He longed for Snape’s fingers, his touch, his lips, his _anything._ He was almost vibrating with this need. The alcohol floating in his system didn’t help the matters at all, intensifying this feeling, but also making him far too bold. Tomorrow morning Harry would definitely regret this.

When they stepped inside the darkened corridor, Snape stopped in the middle of it, turning around slightly, not facing Harry fully.

“Goodnight, Potter.” He said, his voice slightly strained.

Harry bit down on his lower lip, observing his professor’s back carefully, before he responded;

“Goodnight, Severus.”

The silence rung in Harry’s ears as he saw the man tensing, then straightening up until he finally turned around, his eyes glistening with annoyance.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to use my given name.” He said, his voice cutting.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “But I was wondering if it was worth a try.” He answered, his voice slightly shaking, but nevertheless determined.

Snape took a step in his direction, his hands clenched in fists and his gaze so intense and burning, that Harry felt as if it was flaming up his skin, hot lava filling up his veins. He didn’t back down under this gaze, though, deciding to jump right ahead into that black, intrusive sea, and check if he would come up alive after that.

“And?” Snape asked, his voice demanding. “Was it worth a try?” He sneered, another step closer, with only two or three left between them.

“I don’t know, Severus. You tell me. Was it worth a try?”

The man was in front of him in a blink of an eye, his hand on his chest as he pushed Harry against the corridor wall, which he hit, the air leaving him all at once. His heart was beating so fast inside his ribcage, trying to escape its tight prison, pumping heated blood from the tips of his toes to the last hair, that Harry felt light headed. The man’s smell was everywhere, and this time the Gryffindor didn’t manage to conceal his moan in time, which left his lips shamelessly. Snape was breathing almost as hard as Harry was, the man’s onyx black eyes fixed on the verdant ones, the thunder raging behind them making the younger wizard weak in his knees.

“Severus,” he barely whispered, not able to find his voice, his mouth too dry to form a proper sentence.

And then Harry saw it. The defeat in Snape’s eyes. The surrender.

When their lips met, it was as if molecules of pleasure exploded in Harry’s chest. He couldn’t stand, he couldn’t breathe, he could just moan, the sound quickly swallowed by Snape’s hungry lips. He tasted even better than Harry had ever imagined, dark and intoxicating, but in the same time surprisingly sweet. He couldn’t get enough of it, feeling like a drug addict on withdrawal, tremors going through his body one by one, leaving him throbbing with need. He rose his hands and sank them in soft strands, only to grip them almost painfully. The moan, which left Snape’s mouth at that, went straight to Harry’s cock, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue inside the formed gap. They fought for dominance, hard and stubbornly, just like they fought in real life, but the sensations were so intense that Harry couldn’t even tell if it was him who was moaning or the other man. Snape’s hands, firstly on his hips, moved under his tee shirt and Harry trembled, feeling them against his naked, feverish skin, sending sparks of sharp pleasure down his spine. Without thinking, he grasped the man’s shirt and started to undo the long line of buttons, triumphantly slipping his hand in the created hole after a few seconds, reveling in the feeling of Snape’s hard skin under his fingers. Scratching the flesh with his nails mildly, Harry headed down, the man’s abdomen muscles contracting under his touch. He reached the waistband of his trousers finally, the heat consuming him from inside out, when he came across a cold structure of Snape’s belt. He was about to get rid of it in his haze, as quickly as possible, when suddenly the man’s hands disappeared from the younger wizard’s chest, gripping Harry’s palms in a strong grasp instead.

“Stop.” He gasped then, his voice raspy and strained, close to Harry’s ear. “We can’t...” He didn’t finish, only breathed out heavily and moved his face so that he could look at the Gryffindor’s features. His body was still pinning Harry’s to the wall, though, as if the man didn’t have enough strength to move away.

“We can’t.” He repeated more sternly, lust still evident in his eyes, even if he was slowly getting back control over his own body.

“Why not?” Harry wheezed, both desire and eagerness radiating from him.

“We just can’t.” Snape said again, shaking his head, this time also taking a step back, and depriving Harry of the warmness of his hard body. He threw Harry one last look, before he left him in the corridor, painfully hard and very confused, as he disappeared in his bedroom, the sound of closing door resonating in the empty hall.


End file.
